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"There  is  the  man   who   stole   the  papers  belonging  to   Monsieur 
Bergatne." — p.  191 


BELLE  ROSE 

A    ROMANCE 

OF  THE  CLOAK  AND  SWORD 
BY  AMEDEE  ACHARD 


TRANSLATED    FROM 
THE    FRENCH 

BY  WILLIAM  HALE 


STREET  &  SMITH 

SUCCESSORS  TO 

HOWARD,   A1NSLEE  &   CO. 
PUBLISHERS,  •  NEW  YORK 


COPYRIGHT  1895  BY  STREET  &  SMITH. 
COPYRIGHT  1898  BY  HOWARD,  AIKSLEE  &  Co. 


AMEDEE  ACHARD 

BY 

WILLIAM  HALE 


"Belle-Rose,  the  best  imitation  of  Dumas'  best  manner  by  his  best 
imitator,  Amedee  Achard." — George  Saintshuy. 


THE  brilliant  success  of  the  romance  of  the  cloak  and  sword, 
in  the  latter  part  of  the  reign  of  Louis  Philippe,  seems  to 
have  influenced  many  of  the  writers  of  that  epoch  to  imitate 
the  example  of  the  elder  Dumas.  Auguste  Maquet,  Dumas'  col- 
laborator, attempted  to  fill  the  blanks  in  the  great  master's  series 
of  historical  romances  covering  the  period  between  the  massacre 
of  St.  Bartholomew  and  the  Revolution ;  Theophile  Gautier 
wrote  a  tour  de  force  not  altogether  successful,  entitled,  "Le 
Capitaine  Fracasse"  ;  Ponson  du  Terrail  built  up  audacious  inven- 
tions which  had  nothing  historic  about  them  except  the  date; 
Albert  Blanquet  introduced  the  most  ultra-sensationalism  into 
his  pictures  of  the  court  of  Henry  II.  and  the  episode  of  La  Belle 
Feronniere;  Paul  Feval,  at  a  somewhat  later  period,  echoed  the 
traditions  of  this  period,  in  a  historic  romance  of  real  merit  de- 
scribing the  Regency  and  the  famous  Mississippi  scheme  of  Law. 
But  chief  among  all  these  imitators  was  a  native  of  Marseilles, 
Amedee  Achard,  who  had  many  of  the  qualities  of  the  great 
Dumas  himself.  Louis  Aniedee  Eugene  Achard  is  the  full  name 
of  the  author  in  question,  and  he  was  born  at  the  above-named 
city  on  April  19,  1814.  Leon  Gozlan  and  Joseph  Mery,  two  of 
Achard's  most  brilliant  contemporaries,  were  also  born  at  Mar- 
seilles about  the  same  period.  It  would  be  interesting  to  compare 
these  two  now  almost  forgotten  writers  with  the  versatile  author 
of  "Belle-Rose."  They  all  had  their  hour  of  vogue,  but  only 
Achard  is  read  to  any  great  extent  to-day. 

Amedee  Achard's  family  were  merchants,  and  the  young  man's 


a  AMEDEE  ACHARD. 

first  employment  was  in  a  commercial  house  in  his  native  city. 
He  was  just  twenty  years  old  when  he  left  Marseilles  to  go  to 
Algeria,  there  to  assist  in  the  direction  of  an  agricultural  colony. 
Upon  his  return  from  Algeria  in  1835  he  entered  the  govern- 
mental service  as  private  secretary  to  M.  Floret,  prefect  of  Haute- 
Garonne.  His  debut  in  the  literary  field  took  place  at  Marseilles, 
where  he  published  several  articles  in  the  Semaphore,  but  noto- 
riety only  came  to  him  after  having  collaborated  in  the  Vert- 
Vert,  the  Entr'acte  and  the  Charavari.  His  "Parisian  Letters" 
were  published  in  the  Epoque  under  the  pen  name  of  Grimm, 
and  made  him  famous.  As  a  direct  result  of  this  fame  he  was 
sent  to  Madrid  to  assist  in  the  quality  of  reporter  at  the  fetes 
occurring  on  the  marriage  of  the  Due  de  Montpeusier  (1846). 
Alexandre  Dumas,  Auguste  Maquet,  and  several  of  the  former's 
friends  were  traveling  in  Spain  at  the  same  time.  Achard  saw  a 
good  deal  of  them  up  to  the  time  that  Dumas  sailed  for  Africa, 
when  Achard  returned  to  Paris.  Dumas  mentions  Achard  quite 
frequently  in  his  "Impressions  de  Voyage,"  and  they  were  un- 
questionably good  friends.  Shortly  after  his  return  to  Paris, 
Achard  published  his  letters  from  Spain  in  a  volume  entitled  "A 
Month  in  Spain"  (1847).  In  the  same  year  he  gave  to  the  world 
his  first  notable  romance  "Belle-Rose."  He  had  published  two 
short  stories  before,  but  they  had  excited  no  attention.  Not  so 
with  "Belle-Rose,"  which  achieved  a  splendid  success. 

The  year  1848  is  remembered  as  the  year  of  revolutions,  and 
in  that  year  Paris  had  her  usual  periodical  uprising.  When  the 
revolution  burst  out  Achard  was  a  contributor  to  the  Pamphlet, 
an  illustrated  satiric  journal  published  by  M.  Auguste  Vitu.  He 
threw  aside  the  pen  to  take  up  the  sword,  and  fought  in  the 
ranks  of  the  National  Guard  during  the  days  of  June.  His  brother 
was  mortally  wounded  at  his  side,  and  he  himself  was  taken 
prisoner  by  the  insurgents.  The  reader  will  find  a  description  of 
this  experience  in  Achard's  "Souvenirs  Personnels  d'Emeutes  et 
des  Revolutions." 

In  1850  a  violent  literary  quarrel  occurred  between  M.  P.  A. 
Fiorentino  and  the  Societe  des  Gens  de  Lettres.  This  quarrel 
terminated  in  a  duel  in  which  Achard,  simply  designated  by  the 
alphabetical  order,  had  to  represent  the  society.  The  duel  was 
fought  and  Achard  received  a  wound  in  the  breast  from  which 
he  suffered  all  the  rest  of  his  life.  This  duel  was  quite 
famous. 

In  1859  Achard  received  a  commission  from  the  Journal  des 
Debats  to  act  as  war  correspondent  for  it  during  the  episode  of 
the  French  invasion  of  Italy.  On  his  return  he  published  a  series 
of  letters  which  he  had  addressed  to  that  journal.  They  were 
issued  under  the  title,  "Lettres  d' Italic:  Montibello,  Magenta. 


AMEDEE   ACHARD.  3 

Marignan. "  He  also  assisted  at  the  beginning  of  the  campaign 
of  1870  as  a  representative  of  the  Moniteur. 

In  addition  to  his  work  as  a  journalist,  Achard  wrote  several 
dramas,  but  failed  to  achieve  any  lasting  success  in  this  field. 
He  undoubtedly. had  the  gift  of  brilliant  and  facile  dialogue. 
His  failure  may  have  come  from  other  causes.  Amedee  Achard 
died  at  a  small  town  in  the  south  of  France  during  the  latter  part 
of  the  year  1875. 

Achard's  romances  are  very  numerous.  Nearly  all  of  them  first 
appeared  as  feuilletons  in  the  Revue  des  Deux-Mondes,  the 
Journal  pour  Tous,  and  other  periodicals  of  like  character. 
"Belle-Rose,"  we  believe,  appeared  first  in  L' 'Esprit  Publique, 
just  three  years  after  Dumas  had  given  "LesTrois  Mousque- 
taires"  to  the  world.  The  success  of  the  latter  work  undoubtedly 
influenced  Achard  in  the  composition  of  "Belle-Rose,"  though 
the  specific  treatment  of  the  romance  is  different  in  many 
respects. 

Maurice  Tourneux  is  authority  for  the  statement  that  "Belle- 
Rose"  is  borrowed  as  to  characters  and  very  largely  as  to  form, 
from  a  forgotten  story  of  Elzear  de  Mauvelon,  published  at 
Dresden  in  1753,  and  entitled  "M.  de  Verval,  ou;  le  Soldat  Par- 
venu." Mauvillon  was  a  Frenchman  who  spent  the  greater  part 
of  his  life  in  Germany.  He  is  the  author  of  numerous  historical 
woiks.  We  are  not  acquainted  with  the  romance  in  question,  so 
we  are  unable  to  say  to  just  what  extent  Achard  has  plagarized. 
As  Mauvillon  was  a  writer  who  flourished  in  the  middle  of  the 
eighteenth  century,  it  is  hardly  to  be  supposed  that  his  story 
bears  any  great  affinity  to  Achard's  romance,  which  is  essentially 
modern  in  its  character.  By  modern,  we  mean  that  its  style  is 
altogether  different  from  that  of  the  novels  of  the  last  century. 

As  a  historical  novelist  Achard  belongs  to  the  same  family  as 
the  elder  Dumas.  In  fact,  he  conies  nearer  in  every  respect  to 
measuring  up  to  the  standard  of  the  famous  author  of  "Les  Trois 
Mousquetaires"  than  any  of  his  contemporaries.  We  all  know 
the  methods  of  this  school.  It  is  simply  to  take  some  obscure 
D'Artagnan  from  the  provinces,  transport  him  to  Paris,  make 
him  ascend  the  various  rounds  of  the  ladder,  and  see  to  it  that 
he  dies  either  a  colonel  in  the  King's  Musketeers,  or  a  Marshal  of 
France.  The  storj'  is  old,  but  it  is  always  new.  Each  writer  who 
takes  the  same  well-known  theme  has  a  chance  to  paint  new  dec- 
orations with  which  to  stage  it,  new  characters  to  vary  its  monot- 
ony, new  incidents  to  surprise  the  reader. 

Achard's  most  extensive  work,  however,  was  not  in  the  field 
of  historical  romance.  He  devoted  most  of  his  time  to  drawing 
pictures  of  contemporaiy  life.  His  literary  baggage  of  this  kind 
is  very  considerable,  but  not  of  any  great  value.  He  seems  to 


4  AMEDEE   ACHARD. 

have  mistaken  the  trend  of  his  talent  when  he  abandoned  the 
romance  of  "the  cloak  and  sword"  for  the  novel  of  nineteenth 
century  life.  "The  Due  de  Carl epont,"  the  "Robe  de  Nessus, " 
and  the  "Clos-Pommier"  are  the  best  examples  he  has  given  us 
in  this  style.  They  are  well  written,  but  decidedly  deficient  in 
those  qualities  which  are  so  necessary  to  the  continuous  interest 
of  a  romance. 

The  esteem  in  which  Achard  was  held  by  his  contemporaries 
is  shown  by  the  appreciative  opinion  pronounced  by  Louis 
Ulbach  and  Joseph  Mery.  Ulbach  says  in  his  "Causeries  du 
Dimanche, "  speaking  of  one  of  Achard's  romances  that  he  was 
one  of  the  few  novelists  of  his  time  who  was  always  careful  of 
his  work,  and  who  was  worthy  of  the  serious  attention  of  the 
critic.  Mery's  eulogy  is  found  in  his  "Les  Journees  de  Titus" 
where  he  refers  to  the  author  of  "Belle-Rose"  as  "that  prolific 
inventor  who  has  every  kind  of  style  and  every  kind  of  wit. ' ' 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER.  FACE 

I — The  Falconer's  Son 7 

H— The  First  Tears  17 

III— A  Step  in  Life 25 

IV— The  Skirmish 32 

V— The  Interior  of  a  Barrack 41 

VI— Lost  Illusions 48 

VII— The  Drops  in  the  Cup 54 

VIII — A  House  in  the  Rue  Cassette 60 

IX — A  Friend  and  an  Enemy 68 

X— A  Daughter  of  Eve 76 

XI— The  Lighting  of  a  Passion 82 

XII — The  Dreams  of  a  Summer  Day 89 

XIII— A  Serpent  in  the  Shadow 96 

XIV— The  Agony 101 

XV— A  Step  Toward  the  Tomb 106 

XVI— The  Eve  of  the  Last  Day 112 

XVII— A  Woman's  Hand 119 

XVIII — The  Due  De  Luxembourg 128 

XIX— Wheat  and  Tares 134 

XX— Dice  and  Cards 142 

XXI— Good  and  Evil 149 

XXII— The  Confession  of  a  Magdalen 155 

XXIII— A  Trap 164 

XXIV— A  Soul  in  Pain 170 

XXV— A  City  Won 177 

XXVI— A  Diplomatic  Mission 185 

XXVII— Two  Women's  Hearts 191 

XXVIII— The  Arguments  of  a  Minister  196 

XXIX— What  Woman  Wishes,  God  Wishes 202 

XXX— A  Scene  Upon  the  Ocean 211 

XXXI— The  Dark  Side  of  the  Picture 217 

XXXH— A  Proposal  of  Marriage 224 


CONTENTS-(CoNTiNUKD. ) 

CHAPTER.  PAGE. 

XXXIII— The  Convent  in  the  Rue  Du  Cherche-Midi , 228 

XXXIV— A  White  Night 234 

XXXV— The  Renunciation 238 

XXXVI— The  Last  Hour 240 

XXXVH— An  English  Husband 245 

XXXVIII— The  Siege  of  the  Convent 253 

XXXIX— The  Gardener's  Nephew 258 

XL— A  Poniard  Thrust 26G 

XLI— By  the  Aid  of  Fire 274 

XLI1— The  Beggar 282 

XLin— The  Abbess  of  the  Convent  of  St.  Claire 286 

XLIV— A  Nest  in  a  Convent 293 

XLV— The  Chevalier  d'Arraines 299 

XLVI— Over  H}lls  and  Across  Valleys 306 

XLVII— A  Spy 313 

XLVHI— To  Conquer  or  Die 319 

XLIX— The  Spring  of  1672 329 

L— A  Pleasant  Journey 336 

LI— The  Rhine 343 

LII— A  Ray  of  Sunshine 352 

LHI— The  Rue  De  1'Arbre-Sec .358 


BELLE. ROSE. 


CHAPTER  I. 
THE  FALCONER'S  SON. 

There  was,  about  the  year  1663,  at  some  hundred  steps 
from  St.  Omer,  a  well-built  cottage,  whose  door  opened 
upon  the  main  road  to  Paris.  A  live  hedge  of  hawthorn 
and  of  elder  surrounded  a  garden  in  which  were  to  be 
seen,  confusedly  mixed,  flowers,  goats,  and  children.  Half 
a  dozen  hens,  with  their  young  broods,  cackled  in  a  cor- 
ner between  the  cabbages  and  strawberries ;  two  or  three 
hives,  grouped  under  some  peach  trees,  turned  to  the  sun 
their  sweet-smelling  cones  filled  with  humming  bees,  and 
here  and  there,  upon  the  branches  of  pear  trees,  weighed 
down  with  fruit,  cooed  some  beautiful  pigeon  which  flut- 
tered around  its  mate. 

The  cottage  had  a  fresh  and  smiling  aspect  which  made 
glad  the  heart ;  grape  and  hop- vines  covered  its  walls ; 
seven  or  eight  windows,  irregularly  placed,  seemed  to  look 
at  the  landscape  in  a  good-natured  fashion;  a  slender 
thread  of  smoke  trembled  at  the  top  of  the  chimney, 
where  hung  the  flexible  stems  of  the  wall-wort,  and  at 
whatever  hour  of  the  day  you  passed  before  the  house, 
you  heard  the  joyous  cries  of  children  and  the  crowing  of 
cocks.  Among  these  children  who  came  there  from  all 
parts  of  the  faubourg,  there  were  three  who  belonged  to 
Guillaume  Grinedal,  the  master  of  the  house — Jacques, 
Claudine,  and  Pierre. 

Guillaume  Grinedal,  or  Pere  Guillaume,  as  he  was 
familiarly  called,  was  indeed  the  best  falconer  in  all 
Artois ;  but  for  a  long  time  he  had  had  no  occasion  to 
make  use  of  his  knowledge.  During  the  regency  of  Queen 
Anne,  of  Austria,  Monsieur  d'Assonville,  his  master,  ruined 
by  the  wars,  had  been  forced  to  sell  his  lands ;  but,  before 
leaving  the  country,  wishing  to  reward  the  fidelity  of  his 
old  servitor,  he  had  made  him  a  present  of  the  cottage  and 
the  garden.  The  old  Grinedal,  refusing  to  serve  new  mas- 


8  THE  FALCONER'S  SON. 

tors,  had  retired  to  this  habitation,  where  he  lived  on  the 
fruits  of  occasional  work  and  on  his  savings.  Become  a 
widower,  Pere  Guillaume  no  longer  thought  of  anything 
but  his  children,  whom  he  raised  as  well  as  his  means  per- 
mitted him  and  the  most  honestly  in  the  world.  So  long 
as  they  were  small,  the  children  lived  as  free  as  butter- 
flies, rolling  in  the  grass  in  summer,  skating  upon  the  ice 
in  winter,  and  running  with  heads  bared  to  the  sun, 
through  the  rain  or  through  the  wind.  Then  came  the 
time  for  study,  which  consisted  in  reading  in  a  great  book 
upon  the  knees  of  Pere  Grinedal,  and  in  writing  upon  a 
slate,  all  of  which,  however,  did  not  prevent  them  from 
finding  leisure  to  gather  strawberries  in  the  woods  and 
crawfish  in  the  streams. 

Jacques,  the  oldest  one  of  the  lot,  was,  at  seventeen  or 
eighteen,  a  great  fellow  who  appeared  to  be  over  twenty. 
He  was  not  a  fine  conversationalist,  but  he  acted  with  an 
extreme  boldness  and  resolution  as  soon  as  he  believed 
himself  to  be  in  the  right.  His  strength  made  him  dreaded 
by  all  the  scholars  of  the  district,  while  his  upright 
character  made  him  loved  to  an  equal  extent.  He  was 
chosen  as  judge  in  all  the  children's  quarrels;  Jacques 
rendered  his  decree,  supported  it  if  need  be  with  some 
trenchant  blows,  and  everybody  went  away  pleased. 
When  there  was  a  dispute  and  battles  for  cherries  or  some 
German  toy,  the  arrival  of  Jacques  made  the  boldest 
silent  and  gave  courage  to  the  weaker  ones;  Jacques 
parted  the  combatants,  questioned  them  as  to  the  causes 
of  the  debate,  distributed  advice  to  some,  a  thump  on  the 
head  to  others,  adjudicated  the  matter  in  litigation,  and 
put  each  of  them  in  accord  by  a  game  of  nine-pins. 

It  happened  at  times  that  he  addressed  himself  to  those 
larger  and  stronger  than  he ;  but  the  fear  of  being  beaten 
did  not  stop  him.  Ten  times  thrown  to  the  ground,  he 
arose  ten  times ;  conquered  the  evening  before,  he  began 
again  the  next  day,  and  such  was  the  power  of  his  courage, 
supported  by  the  sentiment  of  justice  innate  in  him,  that 
he  always  ended  by  being  victorious.  But  this  determined 
fellow,  who  would  not  have  recoiled  before  ten  of  the 
king's  gendarmes,  grew  troubled  and  stammered  before  a 
little  girl  who  might  well  be  four  years  younger  than  him- 
self. The  presence  of  Mademoiselle  Suzanne  de  Malzon- 
villiers  was  sufficient  to  stop  him  in  the  midst  of  his  most 
violent  exercises.  As  soon  as  he  perceived  her  he  de- 
scended from  the  tops  of  the  poplars  where  he  was  rob- 
bing the  nests  of  some  magpies,  released  the  arm  of  the 


THE  FALCONER'S  SON.  9 

mischievous  urchin  whom  he  was  about  to  chastise,  or  let 
go  the  bull  with  whom  he  was  struggling.  All  the  young 
lady  had  to  do  was  to  make  an  imperceptible  sign  of  her 
finger,  give  him  a  significant  glance,  to  make  Jacques  run 
to  her  side,  blushing  and  confused. 

Mademoiselle  de  Malzonvilliers'  father  was  a  rich  farmer 
of  the  revenue  who  had  taken  advantage  of  the  times  of 
the  Fronde  to  make  a  fortune,  while  so  many  others,  on 
the  contrary,  were  ruined  by  that  troublous  period.  He 
had  not  always  called  himself  by  the  brilliant  name  of 
Malzonvilliers,  which  was  that  of  an  estate  in  which  he 
had  invested  the  better  part  of  his  fortune ;  but,  like  a 
shrewd  man,  he  had  thought  that  he  might,  like  other 
bourgeois  of  his  acquaintance,  barter  the  peasant  name  of 
his  father  for  one  which  did  honor  to  his  crowns.  Mon- 
sieur Dufailly  had  progressively  become,  and  as  the  result 
of  skillful  transformations,  at  first  Monsieur  du  Failly, 
then  Monsieur  du  Failly  de  Malzonvilliers,  then  finally 
Monsieur  de  Malzonvilliers,  quite  short.  At  present  he  was 
only  waiting  for  a  favorable  occasion  to  give  himself  the 
title  of  baron  or  chevalier.  At  the  epoch  when  his  affairs 
necessitated  frequent  journeys  into  the  province,  and 
oftentimes  even  as  far  as  Paris,  Monsieur  de  Malzonvilliers 
had  many  times  confided  the  care  of  his  possessions  to 
Guillaume  Grinedal,  who  passed  for  the  most  honest  arti- 
san in  St.  Omer.  This  confidence,  which  Monsieur  de  Mal- 
zonvilliers had  never  had  occasion  to  regret,  had  estab- 
lished between  the  falconer  and  the  farmer  of  revenue  in- 
timate and  daily  relations,  which  profited  the  three  chil- 
dren, Jacques,  Claudine,  and  Pierre.  Suzanne,  who  was 
almost  as  old  as  Claudine,  had  masters  of  every  kind,  and 
the  lessons  served  for  all,  so  that  the  sons  of  Pere  Guil- 
laume soon  knew  more  than  half  of  the  little  bourgeois  of 
St.  Omer. 

Jacques  profited  above  all  by  this  instruction ;  as  he  had 
a  just  and  persevering  mind,  he  puzzled  over  things  until 
he  had  understood  them.  He  was  often  to  be  met  in  the 
fields,  bareheaded,  feet  incased  in  wooden  shoes,  and  a 
book  in  his  hand,  and  he  never  let  go  of  it  until  he  had 
thoroughly  mastered  it.  One  thing  alone  could  turn  him 
aside  from  this  occupation — it  was  the  pleasure  which  he 
enjoyed  in  seeing  his  father  handle  the  old  arms  which 
were  brought  to  him  from  the  four  corners  of  the  town 
and  from  the  chateaux  in  the  neighborhood  to  be  put  in 
condition.  Guillaume  Grinedal  was  the  best  gunsmith  in 
the  canton ;  it  was  an  art  which  he  had  learned  in  the  time 


10  THE  FALCONER'S  SON. 

•when  he  was  master  of  falconry  at  Monsieur  d'Asson- 
ville's,  and  -which  would  have  brought  him  in  much 
money  if  he  had  -wished  to  exercise  it  n  the  hope  of  gain. 
But,  in  his  profession,  he  acted  like  an  artist,  wiLhing  no 
more  than  the  just  payment  for  his  work,  which  he  always 
estimated  at  a  value  below  its  real  worth.  Jacques  often 
amused  himself  by  assisting  him,  and  when  he  had  pol- 
ished a  halbert  or  some  sword,  he  esteemed  himself  the 
happiest  fellow  in  the  country,  provided,  however,  that 
Mademoiselle  de  Malzonvilliers  gave  him  in  the  morning 
her  daily  smile.  When  Suzanne  walked  about  the  garden 
of  the  falconry  in  company  with  the  children  and  the  do- 
mestic animals  which  lived  there  on  the  best  of  terms,  she 
offered  to  Jacques  the  strangest  contrast  imaginable. 
Jacques  was  large,  strong,  and  vigorous.  His  black  eyes, 
full  of  firmness  and  luster,  shone  under  a  forehead  em- 
browned by  the  sun  and  loaded  with  thick  curls  of  blonde 
hair.  At  the  least  gesture  of  his  arms  one  understood  that 
in  a  turn  of  the  hand  he  would  have  pulled  up  a  young 
tree  by  the  roots  or  made  an  ox  bend  its  hoofs ;  but  at  the 
least  word  from  Suzanne,  he  blushed.  Suzanne,  on  the 
contrary,  had  an  exquisite  delicacy  of  form  and  features ; 
at  fifteen  she  appeared  to  be  scarcely  twelve  or  thirteen 
years  of  age;  her  paleface,  her  slender  form,  her  frail 
limbs  indicated  a  nervous  organization  of  an  extreme  deli- 
cacy. But  the  calm  and  radiant  look  of  her  great  blue  eyes, 
filled  with  life  and  intelligence,  the  clear  and  firm  contour 
of  her  mouth,  announced  at  '.he  same  time  the  resolution 
of  an  honest  and  courageous  soul.  She  had  the  form  of  a 
child  and  the  smile  of  a  woman.  When  she  happened  to  go 
to  sleep  in  the  shade  of  an  oak,  Iier  head  supported  upon 
Jacques'  shoulder,  the  poor  fellow  remained  immovable  so 
long  as  the  sleep  of  his  little  friend  lasted,  and,  in  a  mute 
contemplation,  he  admired  the  young  and  pure  face  which 
reposed  upon  his  heart  with  such  an  innocent  abandon- 
ment. When  the  young  girl  half  op:ned  her  rosy  and  seri- 
ous  lips  Jacques  held  his  breath  to  hear  better.  His  soul 
vibrated  at  the  voice  of  Suzanne  as  does  the  branch  of  the 
willow  at  the  least  breath  of  wind,  and  at  times  he  felt, 
while  listening  to  her,  tears  mount  to  his  eyelids — tears 
whose  cause  was  unknown  to  him,  but  whose  divine  source 
was  in  his  heart. 

One  day  in  the  month  of  May,  1658,  five  years  before  the 
epoch  at  which  this  story  begins,  and  a  short  time  before 
the  glorious  battle  of  the  Dunes,  Jacques,  who  might  then 
be  thirteen  or  fourteen  years  of  age,  saw  coming  to  him, 


THE  FAIjCONEE'S  SOX.  11 

while  he  was  promenading  in  a  meadow  at  a  short  dis- 
tance from  St.  Omer,  an  unknown  man  who  was  indiffer- 
ently dressed.  Yon  would  have  taken  him  for  some  de- 
serter, by  his  accouterment,  which  pertained  as  much  to 
the  civil  as  to  the  military  state,  if  the  stranger  had  not 
been  deformed.  One  could  not  be  a  soldier  with  a  hump  on 
the  shoulders,  and  Jacques  thought  he  might  be  a  peddler. 
The  stranger  followed  a  path  traced  by  the  marsh-gar- 
deners between  the  vegetables,  and  mounted  at  times  upon 
a  hillock  to  look  over  the  hedges  at  the  country  beyond. 
When  he  was  dose  to  Jacques  he  stopped  and  began  to 
consider  him  for  a  moment.  Jacques  was  leaning  against 
an  apple  tree,  his  hands  in  his  pockets  and  whistling  be- 
tween his  teeth.  After  some  minutes  of  reflection,  the  un- 
known walked  toward  him. 

"Do  you  belong  to  this  country,  my  boy?"  he  said  to 
him. 

"Yes,  monsieur,"  replied  Jacques. 

If  some  one  had  asked  Jacques  why  he  had  sainted  him 
whom  he  took  for  a  peddler  with  the  name  of  monsieur,  he 
would  have  found  great  difficulty  in  explaining  it.  The 
stranger  had  an  air  which  awed  Jacques,  though  the  son 
of  Guillaume  Grinedal  did  not  allow  himself  to  be  easily 
intimidated.  He  spoke,  looked,  and  acted  with  an  extreme 
simplicity,  but  in  this  simplicity  there  was  more  of  nobil- 
ity and  pride  than  in  all  the  importance  of  Monsieur  de 
Malzonvilliers. 

"If  that  is  the  case,"  said  the  unknown,  "you  can  un- 
doubtedly give  me  the  name  of  some  one  able  to  make  a 
long  journey  on  horseback?" 

"Ton  have  that  same  one  before  you,  monsieur." 

"You?" 

"Myself." 

"Bat,  my  little  friend,  you  appear  to  me  very  young. 
Do  you  know  that  it  is  a  question  of  galloping  seven  or 
eight  leagues  without  drawing  bridle?" 

"Do  not  bother  yourself  about  my  age;  only  furnish  me 
the  horse,  and  you  will  see." 

The  stranger  smiled ;  then  he  added: 

"He  is  untractable  and  full  of  fire " 

"I  have  a  good  arm  and  a  good  eye;  he  can  run " 

"Come,  then;  the  horse  is  not  far  off." 

The  unknown  and  Jacques  left  the  meadow  and  entered 
a  little  patch  of  woods.  Just  in  the  middle,  behind  a 
thicket,  Jacques  perceived  a  horsa  hitched  to  an  elm. 
Jacques  had  never  seen  an  animal  so  beautiful,  even  in 


12  THE  FALCONEE'S  SON. 

the  stables  of  Monsieur  de  Malzonvilliers.  Ho  approached 
the  horse,  caressed  its  croup,  unhitched  it,  and  was  get- 
ting ready  to  leap  into  the  saddle,  when  the  stranger  softly 
placed  a  hand  upon  his  shoulder. 

"Before  leaving,"  he  said  to  him,  "it  is  at  least  neces- 
sary for  you  to  know  where  you  are  to  go. " 

"That  is  true,"  replied  Jacques,  whose  foot  was  already 
in  the  stirrup. 

Impatience  to  gallop  upon  such  a  noble  horse  had  made 
him  forget  the  object  of  his  trip. 

"You  doubtless  know  where  the  little  village  of  Witter- 
nesse  is  situated?" 

"Quite  well — at  a  league,  almost,  to  the  right,  in  the 
direction  of  Aire." 

"It  is  there  you  must  go;  now  bear  this  well  in  mind: 
Before  entering  Witternesse  you  will  see,  to  your  left,  a 
farm-house  at  the  end  of  a  rye  field.  It  has  four  windows, 
and  there  is  a  weather-cock  on  the  roof.  You  will  give 
three  knocks  at  the  door ;  at  the  third  one  you  will  pro- 
nounce in  a  loud  voice  the  name  of  Bergame ;  a  man  will 
come  out,  and  you  will  hand  him  this  paper. ' ' 

Upon  which  the  unknown  drew  from  his  pocket  a  small 
portfolio,  took  a  pencil,  and  began  to  write. 

"Do  you  know  how  to  read?  "he  suddenly  asked  Jacques. 

"Yes,  monsieur;  quite  well. " 

The  stranger  contracted  his  eyebrows ;  but  this  move- 
ment was  so  rapid  that  Jacques  did  not  have  time  to  take 
notice  of  it.  For  a  moment  the  stranger  turned  the  pencil 
between  his  fingers ;  then  taking  a  sudden  resolution,  he 
rapidly  wrote  some  words,  tore  out  the  leaf  of  paper,  and 
presenting  it  to  Jacques,  fixed  upon  the  child  a  searching 
glance.  Jacques  examined  the  paper. 

"I  read,  but  I  do  not  understand,"  said  he. 

The  stranger  smiled. 

"It  is  not  necessary  for  you  to  understand,"  he  replied; 
"slip  the  paper  in  your  pocket  and  mount  your  horse. 
Good !  Parbleau,  my  boy,  you  carry  yourself  finely !  If  you 
make  the  trip  in  that  fashion  you  will  not  serve  as  a  fas- 
cine to  some  ditch.  But,  all  the  same,  keep  your  eyes  con- 
stantly upon  your  animal's  ears.  He  is  full  of  whims ;  but 
when  he  intends  to  play  a  trick  he  is  honest  enough  to 
warn  his  rider  by  a  certain  movement  of  his  ears,  which 
the  limbs  of  a  great  many  people  have  caused  them  to 
recollect.  Ah!  you  laugh.  You  will  see,  my  boy." 

As  Jacques  was  about  to  start  the  stranger  detained 
him. 


THE  FALCONER'S  SON.  15 

"One  word.  Do  you  know  in  the  neighborhood  a  family 
of  honest  people  with  whom  I  can  spend  the  time  until 
your  return  without  awakening  suspicions." 

"I  know  ten  such,  but  there  is  one  above  all  which  will 
meet  your  requirements.  Leave  this  wood,  follow  the  path 
on  which  I  met  you,  take  the  main  road,  and  stop  before 
the  first  house  you  come  across  to  your  right  You  will 
recognize  it  easily.  Everything  is  open,  doors  and  win- 
dows. You  will  be  at  my  father's,  Guillaume  GrinedaTs, 
just  as  if  you  were  at  home." 

"Diahle!  but  I  will  be  quite  comfortable  there,"  said 
the  stranger,  with  a  smile.  "Go  now." 

He  withdrew  his  hand  which  rested  upon  the  curb,  and 
the  horse  started.  A  quarter  of  an  hour  after,  the  stranger 
entered  the  garden  of  Guillaume  GrinedaL  At  the  sight  of 
a  stranger,  the  falconer  laid  down  a  long  pistol  which  he 
was  polishing  and  rose  to  meet  him. 

"What  do  you  wish?"  he  said  to  him. 

"Hospitality." 

"Enter.  What  I  have  is  yours.  If  you  are  hungry  you 
shall  eat,  if  you  are  thirsty  you  shall  drink,  and  poor 
though  I  am,  I  always  have  a  bed  for  the  honest  trav- 
eler." 

Saying  which,  Fere  Guillaume  uncovered  his  forehead; 
his  honest  countenance,  furrowed  by  toil,  preserved  an  ex- 
pression of  dignity  which  made  him  appear  above  his  con- 
dition. 

"I thank  you, "said  the  stranger;  "my  visit  will  he 
short.  When  your  son  shall  have  returned  I  win  leave. " 

Guillaume  questioned  him  with  a  look. 

"Oh,"  continued  his  guest,  "he  runs  no  danger.  Before 
the  moon  rises  he  will  have  returned.  I  am  a  merchant 
from  Arras  going  to  Lille  on  business;  the  country  is  un- 
safe, and  I  thought  that  your  son  might  more  successfully 
than  myself  charge  himself  with  a  valise  left  in  the  hands 
of  my  valet  at  Witternesse.  One  cannot  take  too  many 
precautions  in  the  times  in  which  we  live." 

"You  are  right,"  said  the  falconer,  when  they  had  ar- 
rived in  the  middle  room  of  the  house,  "we  live  in  a  time 
when  it  is  necessary  to  surround  one's  self  with  precau- 
tions. But  in  the  house  of  an  honest  man  there  is  no  need 
for  them ;  therefore,  my  gentleman,  do  not  trouble  your- 
self to  disguise  your  language  and  your  manners." 

At  these  words,  the  stranger  trembled. 

"I  do  not  ask  you  your  quality  and  your  name,"  contin- 
ued the  falconer.  "The  guest  is  sacred;  his  secret  is  like 


U  THE  FALCONER'S  SON. 

his  person.    1  myself  have  gray  hair;  I  have  seen  nothing, 
heard  nothing,  understood  nothing." 

"You  are  an  honest  man!"  the  stranger  impetuously  ex- 
claimed. "Mon  Dieu!  I  have  nothing  to  gain  by  dissimu- 
lating with  you.  You  have  not  deceived  yourself,  Maitre 
Guillaume,  I  am " 

"More,  perhaps,  than  I  suppose,"  the  falconer  hastened 
to  add,  "and  that  is  why  I  take  the  liberty  to  interrupt 
you,  in  order  not  to  know  more.  Let  you  be  Spaniard  or 
Frenchman,  you  are  none  the  less  a  traveler  confided  to 
my  care.  This  roof  protects  you.  If  you  are  one  of  those 
who  have  drawn  the  sword  against  their  king  and  their 
country,  it  is  God's  privilege  to  judge  you.  I  do  my  duty; 
may  you  be  able  to  say  'I  do  mine. ' ' 

The  pretended  merchant  lowered  his  eyes  under  the 
serene  look  of  the  artisan,  and  a  blush  passed  over  his 
forehead  like  a  flash  of  lightning.  But  immediately  regain- 
ing his  serenity,  he  saluted  the  old  falconer  with  his  hand. 

"So  be  it,  my  honest  fellow,  I  will  not  charge  your 
memory  with  a  recollection;  but,  by  the  name  of  my 
father,  I  shall  neither  forget  yours  nor  what  you  are 
doing." 

Two  hours  passed,  and  the  stranger  partook  of  the  fal- 
coner's dinner,  making  himself  at  home,  as  if  under  the 
tent  of  a  soldier  or  in  the  dwelling  of  a  great  lord.  Then 
two  more  hours  passed;  at  the  end  of  the  fourth  he 
showed  a  slightly  perceptible  uneasiness.  He  walked  to 
the  window  and  opened  it,  listening  intently ;  night  had 
come,  and  the  road  was  undisturbed  by  any  sound.  Pres- 
ently he  left  the  house  and  advanced  to  the  garden  gate. 
Pere  Guillaume  followed  him.  The  silence  was  profound. 

"Your  son  is  brave?"  the  stranger  brusquely  said  to  the 
falconer. 

"Honest  and  brave  as  steel." 

"He  will  then  defend  a  charge  confided  to  his  fidelity?" 

"He  is  only  a  child,  but  he  would  brave  death  like  a 
man." 

"Then  I  fear  for  your  son,  Maitre  Guillaume." 

The  father  did  not  reply,  but  in  the  rays  of  the  moon 
the  stranger  saw  the  pallor  extending  over  his  forehead. 
Both  were  silent,  with  eyes  fixed  upon  the  white  line  of 
the  road  which  was  lost  in  a  vague  and  unlimited  horizon. 
The  mysteries  of  the  night  filled  space  with  noises  con- 
fused, rapid,  and  uncertain.  Guillaume  Grinedal  leaned 
upon  the  garden  palings;  you  could  hear  the  wood  crack- 
ing under  the  nervous  grasp  of  his  hands. 


THE  FALCONER'S  SON.  15 

"Nothing,  nothing  yet,"  the  stranger  murmured.  "Oh! 
I  would  give  a  thousand  louis  to  hear  the  gallop  of  a 
horse." 

As  he  spoke  a  detonation  sounded  in  the  distance,  be- 
yond  the  woods  whose  thick  shadows  divided  the  horizon. 
The  falconer  overturned  the  palings  and  leaped  into  the 
road. 

"A  gun-shot!  Did  you  hear  it?"  exclaimed  the  gentle- 
man. 

"I  heard  it,"  replied  Guillaume  Grinedal,  who  threw 
himself  in  the  road,  flat  upon  the  stomach. 

Two  more  detonations  again  broke  the  silence,  but  the 
sounds  came  from  so  far  away  that  the  ear  of  a  father  or 
an  outlaw  was  necessary  to  distinguish  them  from  the 
thousand  noises  which  floated  under  the  profound  sky. 

Guillaume  Grinedal  was  listening  with  ear  pressed  to 
the  ground. 

"Well?"  said  the  gentleman. 

"Nothing,  nothing  yet!  My  heart  throbs  and  my  ears 
tingle, "  said  the  poor  father.  "Ah !  yes,  now  a  muffled  and 
continuous  noise !  He  approaches — it  is  the  gallop  of  a 
horse." 

"Oh!  the  brave  young  fellow!"  exclaimed  the  stranger, 
explosively. 

Guillaume  Grinedal  said  nothing,  but  uncovering  his 
forehead,  whitened  by  years,  he  raised  his  eyes  to  heaven 
and  prayed.  The  gentleman  was  looking  into  space,  his 
head  inclined  forward.  You  would  have  said  that  his 
sparkling  eyes  wished  to  pierce  the  shadowy  transparence 
of  the  night. 

'  'I  see  him,  mordieu !  I  see  him.  The  horse  has  wings, 
and  the  child  is  astride  him." 

The  gentleman  seized  the  falconer's  arm. 

"Do  you  not  recognize  him?"  said  he. 

But  the  falconer  was  thanking  God ;  two  great  tears 
trembled  on  the  border  of  his  eyelids,  and  his  quivering 
lips  murmured  a  prayer  of  gratitude.  The  stranger  with- 
drew his  hand,  and  filled  with  a  religious  emotion,  raised 
his  hat.  A  few  bounds  brought  the  horse  to  them.  The 
child  leaped  to  the  ground  and  fell  into  the  arms  of  the 
falconer. 

"My  father!"  he  exclaimed. 

The  father  silently  pressed  him  to  his  heart. 

"But, "said  Guillaume  Grinedal,  suddenly,  "there  is 
blood  on  your  clothes.  Are  you  wounded?" 

"It  is  nothing,"  replied  Jacques;  "a  ball  has  torn  my 


16  THE  FALCONER'S  SON. 

blouse  here,  near  the  shoulder,  and  has  scratched  me,  I 
believe." 

"You  are  a  valiant  fellow,  upon  my  faith, "  said  the  gen- 
tleman; "if  you  ever  enroll  yourself  under  the  flag  of  His 
Majesty,  King  Louis,  you  will  make  your  way.  Come, 
have  you  the  valise?" 

"It  is  upon  the  croup  of  the  horse. " 

"Poor  Phoebus!  You  have  had  a  rough  time,  hey?"  said 
the  stranger,  gayly  passing  his  hand  over  the  horse's  neck. 

Phoebus  rubbed  h  s  foaming  nostrils  against  the  gentle- 
man's coat,  pricked  up  his  ears  at  his  master's  voice, 
neighed,  and  struck  the  soil  with  his  foot. 

"You  have  been  pursued,  then?  "continued  the  stranger, 
as  he  unstrapped  the  valise. 

"At  a  league  from  Witternesse  I  left  the  main  road  in 
order  to  avoid  Spanish  marauders,"  replied  Jacques. 
"Two  leagues  farther  on,  near  Blaudecques,  I  fell  into  the 
midst  of  hussars  and  imperials  who  were  roving  the  coun- 
try. They  pushed  me  closely  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  But 
Phoebus  has  good  legs.  At  the  entrance  to  the  wood  they 
lost  track  of  me.  Ah !  I  forgot !  Bergame  has  charged  me 
with  a  letter  for  you.  Here  it  is." 

The  gentleman  broke  the  seal,  and  approaching  the  win- 
dow, he  read  rapidly  in  the  light  of  a  lamp. 

"It  is  well ,  my  child.  If  we  should  meet  some  day,  in 
whatever  situation  we  should  find  each  other,  you  can  ap- 
peal to  the  guest  of  Guillaume  Grinedal ;  he  will  recol- 
lect." 

At  dawn  the  stranger  mounted  Phoebus,  who  had  forgot- 
ten, between  a  fresh  litter  and  two  bushels  of  oats,  the  fa- 
tigues of  the  evening.  The  stranger  wore  the  costume  of 
an  Artois  peasant. 

"Adieu,  Guillaume,"  he  said  to  the  falconer,  giving  him 
his  hand;  "I  offer  you  nothing.  Your  hospitality  is  such 
as  cannot  be  paid,  and  I  should  fear  to  offend  you  by  giv- 
ing you  gold.  Take  my  hand,  and  press  it  without  fear. 
Under  whatever  dress  I  may  conceal  myself,  it  is,  I  swear 
to  you,  the  hand  of  a  loyal  gentleman.  As  to  you,  friend 
Jacques,  preserve  that  honest  heart  and  that  determined 
courage,  and  fortune  will  come  to  your  aid ;  if  God  spares 
me,  I  will  pray  him  to  furnish  roe  an  occasion  to  aid  you 
as  you  have  aided  me." 

Jacques'  great  black  eyes  shone  with  a  proud  joy  as  he 
gazed  upon  the  stranger.  In  spite  of  his  deformed  shoulder, 
the  pretended  merchant  from  Arras  seemed  more  noble 
and  more  imposing  than  all  the  officers  of  the  king  whom 


THE  FIEST  TEAKS.  17 

he  had  yet  seen.  As  the  stranger  took  his  hand  Jacques' 
heart  beat  rapidly,  and  when,  pressing  Phoebus'  flanks, 
the  unknown  rode  away  at  a  gallop,  father  and  son  kept 
their  eyes  on  him  for  a  long  time,  touched  and  silent.  As 
they  were  returning  to  the  garden  Jacques'  foot  struck  a 
brilliant  object  which  had  fallen  upon  the  sand.  It  was  a 
gold  medallion. 

"See,  iny  father,"  said  the  child;  "the  stranger  must 
undoubtedly  have  lost  it." 

"Keep  it,  my  son;  perhaps  it  is  Providence  which  sends 
it  to  you." 


CHAPTER  H. 

THE  FIRST  TEARS. 

The  recollection  of  this  adventure  remained  in  Jacques' 
memory.  Time  might  make  faint  its  details,  but  the  affair 
itself  was  fixed  like  a  luminous  spot  in  the  depth  of  his 
heart.  From  the  day  of  his  meeting  with  the  stranger  he 
contracted  a  keener  taste  for  things  pertaining  to  war. 
When  a  squadron  passed  over  the  road,  banner  floating  in 
the  wind  and  trumpet  at  the  head,  he  ran  after  it  as  far 
as  his  legs  could  carry  him  and  hummed  fanfares  for  a 
whole  week.  At  times  it  also  happened  to  him  to  form  the 
children  of  the  faubourg  into  a  regiment  and  with  them  to 
deliver  a  counterfeit  battle  or  imitate  some  siege,  which 
always  ended  by  furious  melees  in  which  his  arms  did 
wonders ;  child  though  he  was,  he  already  displayed  a  sur- 
prising address  in  the  handling  of  arms — sword,  saber,  ax, 
pike,  dagger,  pistol,  or  musket.  The  words  of  the  Arras 
merchant,  "If  ever  you  enrol  yourself ,  you  will  make  your 
way, "  buzzed  constantly  in  his  ears,  but  we  should  add 
that  there  was  no  drill,  review,  combat,  and  assault  which 
Jacques  did  not  willingly  abandon  to  follow  Mademoiselle 
de  Malzonvilliers  when  she  went  with  Claudine  to  search 
for  strawberries  in  the  woods.  On  these  occasions,  which 
were  renewed  every  day,  the  little  general  sighed  with  all 
his  heart  and  stood  confused  when  Suzanne's  hand  encoun- 
tered his.  The  little  girl  made  him  go  and  come  at  her 
will,  but  with  so  much  natural  grace  and  with  an  air  so 
charming,  that  Jacques  would  have  left  for  the  end  of  the 
world  without  deliberating,  upon  a  sign  from  her  blue 
eyes. 

The  years  passed  then  between  studies,   battles,  and 


18  THE  FIRST  TEARS. 

rambles  over  the  country.  It  was  a  time  of  troubles  and 
•wars;  nothing  was  talked  about  except  cities  attacked, 
camps  surprised,  and  murderous  expeditions.  Cardinal 
Mazarin  and  the  king's  party  struggled  against  Parlia- 
ment, the  princes,  and  the  Spaniard.  Monsieur  de  Conde 
held  the  country,  sometimes  conqueror,  sometimes  con- 
quered; but  up  to  this  time  the  town  of  St.  Omer,  pro- 
tected by  a  good  garrison,  had  not  suffered  from  the 
enemy's  depredations.  Jacques  would  have  left  long  since, 
if  he  had  not  been  detained  by  the  charm  which  he  experi- 
enced in  living  near  Mademoiselle  de  Malzonvilliers.  This 
sentiment  was  so  much  the  more  imperious  that  he  took 
no  account  of  it.  Chance,  that  great  architect  of  the  fu- 
ture, caused  him  to  read  his  heart.  One  day,  as  he  was 
seated  in  a  corner  of  the  garden,  head  bowed  and  rolling 
a  dagger  between  his  fingers,  his  sister  Claudine  came  and 
softly  struck  him  on  the  shoulder.  Jacques  trembled. 

"Of  what  are  you  thinking?"  said  the  frolicsome  child 
to  her  brother. 

"I  do  not  know." 

"Do  you  wish  me  to  tell  you?  You  are  thinking  of 
Mam'selle  Suzanne." 

"Why  of  her  rather  than  of  another'?'  exclaimed 
Jacques,  somewhat  confused. 

"Because  Suzanne  is  Suzanne." 

"Beautiful  reason!" 

"Very  good,"  replied  the  child,  whose  mischievous 
smile  half  parted  her  vermilion  lips.  "Oh,  I  understand !" 

"Then,  explain  yourself." 

"Hold,  Jacques, "  added  Claudine,  taking  on  a  serious 
air,  "you  are  thinking  of  Mam'selle  Suzanne  because  you 
love  her." 

Jacques  blushed  to  the  roots  of  his  hair ;  he  rose  with 
a  bound ;  a  new  trouble  filled  his  soul,  and  a  thousand  con- 
fused sensations  animated  him. 

"Heavens!  what  is  the  matter  with  you?"  exclaimed 
Claudine,  frightened  at  the  sudden  change  which  had 
takan  place  in  her  brother's  features. 

"Listen  to  me,  my  sister;  you  are  only  a  little  girl " 

"I  will  be  fifteen  when  the  apricots  come,"  said  the 
child. 

"But, "  continued  Jacques,  "it  is  said  that  little  girls 
understand  these  things  better  than  grown  boys.  Why 
have  you  told  me  that  I  love  Mam'selle  Suzanne?  It  may 
be  that  I  do,  but  I  do  not  know  it." 

"Bless  me!  that  is  to  be  seen  at  the  first  glance.  I  cannot 


THE  FIEST  TEAKS.  19 

tell  you  how ;  but  I  have  understood  it  from  several  things 
which  I  cannot  explain  to  you,  because  I  do  not  know  by 
what  end  to  take  them.  In  the  first  place,  you  do  not 
speak  to  her  as  to  the  other  girls  you  know ;  and  then  you 
have  eyes  as  sweet  as  honey  when  you  look  at  her ;  you 
make  wide  circuits  to  avoid  her,  and  nevertheless  you  al- 
ways meet  her,  or — well,  you  seek  her  everywhere,  and 
when  you  do  not  find  her,  you  stop  short,  and  one  would 
say  that  you  desired  to  conceal  yourself.  In  short,  I  neither 
know  why  nor  how,  but  you  love  her." 

"It  is  true,"  murmured  Jacques;  "it  is  true,  I  love  her. " 

His  voice,  as  he  pronounced  these  words  so  sweet  to  his 
heart,  had  something  grave  and  sad  about  it  which 
touched  Claudine. 

"Well, "  said  she,  slipping  her  pretty  arms  around  her 
brother's  neck,  "do  not  go  and  afflict  yourself  now?  Is  it 
such  a  painful  thing  to  love  people  that  it  is  necessary  to 
assume  that  unhappy  air.  See,  you  are  going  to  make  me 
weep." 

Then  poor  Claudine  dried  the  corners  of  her  eyes  with  her 
apron ;  then  smiling  with  the  nobility  of  childhood,  she 
raised  herself  upon  her  tiptoes,  and  placing  her  mouth  to 
Jacques'  ear,  she  continued: 

"Bah!  if  I  were  you  I  should  rejoice.  Suzanne  is  not 
your  sister.  I  am  sure  that  she  loves  you  as  much  as  you 
love  her.  You  shall  marry  her. ' ' 

Jacques  kissed  Claudine  upon  both  cheeks. 

"You  are  a  kind  sister, "  he  said  to  her;  "go,  now,  I 
know  what  honesty  requires  of  me." 

And  Jacques,  disengaging  himself  from  his  sister's  em- 
brace, left  the  garden.  He  was  going  straight  to  the 
chateau,  when  he  encountered  Monsieur  de  Malzonvilliers. 

"I  was  seeking  you,  monsieur,  "he  said  to  him,  as  he 
saluted  him. 

"Me?    And  what  have  you  to  say  to  me,  my  boy?" 

"I  have  to  speak  to  you  of  an  important  affair." 

"Really?    Well,  speak;  I  am  listening  to  you." 

"Monsieur,  I  am  to-day  eighteen  years  and  some  months 
old, "  said  Jacques,  with  the  grave  air  of  an  ambassador. 
"I  am  an  honest  fellow  who  has  strong  arms  and  a  little 
education;  I  shall  have  one  day  two  or  three  thousand 
livres  from  an  uncle  who  is  a  cure  in  Picardy ;  as  to  that 
which  might  come  to  me  on  my  father's  side,  I  have  de- 
cided to  leave  it  to  Claudine.  In  this  state,  I  come  to  ask 
you  if  you  will  consent  to  give  me  your  daughter  in  mar- 
riage." 


20  THE  FIRST  TEARS. 

"In  marriage  to  you!  What  are  you  talking  about?"  ex- 
claimed Monsieur  de  Malzonvilliers,  thoroughly  stupefied. 

"I  say,  monsieur,  that  I  love  Mademoiselle  Suzanne ;  the 
respect  I  owe  to  you  and  my  duty  do  not  permit  me  to  in- 
form her  of  it  before  having  spoken  to  you  of  my  senti- 
ments. That  is  why  I  come  to  ask  you  to  accept  me  for 
your  son-in-law." 

During  this  discourse  Jacques  was  standing  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  path,  hat  in  hand,  a  handkerchief  wrapped 
around  his  neck,  and  wearing  a  gray  smock. 

"There  is  no  need  for  me  to  say  to  you,"  he  added, 
"that  your  consent  will  render  me  perfectly  happy,  and 
that  I  will  no  longer  have  any  other  desire  than  to  recog- 
nize your  kindness  by  my  good  conduct  and  my  devotion. " 

All  at  once  Monsieur  de  Malzonvilliers  burst  out  laugh- 
ing. The  strangeness  of  the  proposition  and  the  coolness 
with  which  it  had  been  made  had  stupefied  him  at  first ; 
but  at  the  last  words  of  Jacques  he  could  not  keep  from 
laughing  in  the  face  of  the  poor  fellow.  All  of  Jacques' 
blood  mounted  to  his  face.  In  spite  of  the  illusions  with 
which  youth  lulls  itself,  his  native  good  sense  told  him 
that  his  demand  would  not  be  welcomed,  but  his  candid 
honesty  did  not  permit  him  to  believe  that  it  might  give 
matter  for  pleasantry. 

"My  proposition  has  amused  you,"  he  resumed,  with  an 
ill-concealed  emotion.  "I  was  not  expecting,  I  confess,  to 
cause  you  so  much  joy." 

"Eh,  my  friend,  neither  was  I  expecting  such  an  ad- 
venture. Did  one  ever  see  a  thing  like  it?  It  is  more  amus- 
ing than  a  comedy  of  Monsieur  Corneille,  'pon  my  word." 

Jacques  tore  his  hat-brim  with  his  fingers,  but  he  was 
silent.  Monsieur  de  Malzonvilliers  kept  on  laughing.  Fin- 
ally, no  longer  able  to  restrain  himself,  he  sat  down  upon 
a  block  of  stone  on  the  side  of  the  path. 

"You  will  have  sufficient  leisure  to  laugh  after,  "said 
Jacques,  "but  now  is  the  time  to  answer  me;  you  cannot 
guess,  monsieur,  what  has  taken  place  in  my  heart  since  I 
have  known  that  I  love  Mademoiselle  Suzanne.  I  am  wait- 
ing." 

"Come,  my  boy,  are  you  mad?"  replied  the  farmer  of 
revenue,  drying  his  eyes. 

"A  madman  does  not  come  to  honestly  ask  her  father 
for  the  hand  of  a  young  girl." 

"You  speak  seriously,  then?" 

"Quite  seriously." 

"Be  silent,  and  above  all,  do  not  look  at  me  with  that 


THE  FIRST  TEARS.  21 

air  of  an  unhappy  swain,  or  you  will  stifle  me  with  laugh- 
ter, and  I  warn  you  that  it  would  be  to  abuse  rny  position ; 
I  am  much  fatigued,  my  friend." 

"Therefore  such  is  not  my  intention;  I  only  desire  to 
know  what  are  your  sentiments." 

"Go  to  the  devil  with  my  sentiments!  Have  I  the  time 
to  amuse  myself  with  the  trifles  which  enter  the  head  of  a 
madman?  What  a  beautiful  alliance — the  daughter  of 
Monsieur  de  Malzonvilliers  with  the  son  of  Guillaume 
Grinedal,  the  falconer!" 

"Kail  at  me  as  much  as  you  please,  monsieur,  I  shall 
not  grow  offended,"  Jacques  quickly  exclaimed ;  "but  take 
care  not  to  touch  my  father's  name,  for  as  sure  as  there  is 
a  God  in  heaven,  the  one  that  insults  him,  were  it  Su- 
zanne's father,  would  have  my  vengeance  to  fear. " 

"  And  what  would  you  do,  rascal?" 

"I  would  strangle  him !" 

And  Jacques  raised  above  his  head  two  hands  strong 
enough  to  quickly  give  effect  to  the  threat.  Monsieur  de 
Malzonvilliers  brusquely  arose  and  carried  his  hand  to  his 
neck;  he  already  seemed  to  feel  Jacques'  fingers  fastened 
upon  it.  But  Jacques  suddenly  lowered  his  arms,  and  of 
his  violent  emotion  there  no  longer  remained  anything 
but  a  great  pallor  upon  his  countenance. 

"I  ask  your  pardon  for  my  hastiness,"  he  said.  "I ought 
never  to  forget  the  benefits  which  you  have  conferred  on 
my  family ;  this  anger  is  the  fault  of  my  youth  and  not  of 
my  heart ;  forget  it,  monsieur.  You  would  not  be  vexed 
with  me  if  you  knew  how  much  I  suffer  since  love  has 
possessed  me.  I  only  live  for  Mademoiselle  Suzanne,  and  I 
well  feel  that  I  cannot  obtain  her.  But  if  to  merit  her  it 
would  be  necessary  for  me  to  undertake  something  impos- 
sible, tell  me,  and  with  God's  aid  it  seems  to  me  that  I 
should  succeed.  Speak,  monsieur ;  what  must  I  attempt? 
Whatever  it  may  be,  I  am  ready  to  obey,  and  if  I  do  not 
succeed,  I  shall  sacrifice  my  life  in  the  effort. ' ' 

There  is  always  in  the  expression  of  a  true  sentiment  an 
accent  which  touches ;  tears  had  come  to  Jacques' eyes, 
and  his  attitude  expressed  at  the  same  time  anguish  and 
resignation ;  Monsieur  de  Malzonvilliers  was  at  bottom  a 
good  man;  vanity  had  obscured  his  judgment  without 
spoiling  his  heart ;  he  felt  touched  and  extended  his  hand 
to  Jacques. 

"There  is  no  occasion  to  grieve,  my  friend, "  he  said  to 
him,  "nor  to  take  things  so  hard.  You  love,  so  you  say.  It 
has  not  been  a  great  while  since  I  loved,  but  I  do  not  re- 


22  THE  FIRST  TEARS. 

collect  to  have  loved  at  eighteen.  You  will  forget  as  I  have 
forgotten,  and  you  will  not  feel  any  ill-effects  from  it." 

Jacques  shook  his  head  sadly. 

"Yes!  yes!  everybody  talks  that  way,"  continued  the 
farmer  of  revenue.  "Eh?  My  God !  at  your  age  I  already 
believed  myself  in  the  river  because  I  had  lost  the  object 
of  my  first  flame.  But,  bah !  I  have  lost  many  others  since. 
Let  us  talk  sense,  my  boy;  you  will  understand  me,  for 
you  do  not  lack  for  intelligence.  Several  gentlemen  of  the 
neighborhood  have  asked  me  for  Suzanne's  hand.  Can  I 
conscientiously  prefer  you  who  have  nothing,  neither  pro- 
fession, nor  fortune,  and  repulse  those  who  have  both?" 

Jacques  lowered  his  head,  and  a  tear  fell  to  the  ground. 

"Parbleau,  if  you  were  rich  and  noble,"  resumed  Mon- 
sieur de  Malzonvilliers,  "I  should  wish  for  no  other  son- 
in-law  than  yourself. ' ' 

"If  I  were  rich  and  noble?"  exclaimed  Jacques, 

"Yes,  certainly." 

"Well,  monsieur,  I  shall  endeavor  to  win  fortune  and 
nobility." 

"Listen,  then,  my  friend,  these  things  do  not  come 
quickly.  I  do  not  promise  you  to  wait." 

Jacques  hesitated  a  moment ;  then  raising  his  eyes  to 
heaven,  he  said : 

"God  sparing  me,  monsieur,  I  shall  make  as  much  haste 
as  I  can." 

"Poor  fellow!"  murmured  Monsieur  de  Malzonvilliers, 
as  Jacques  moved  away;  "it  is  truly  unfortunate  that  he 
is  not  a  marquis,  or  at  least  a  millionaire." 

Jacques  directed  his  course  with  a  slow  but  firm  step 
toward  a  part  of  the  park  of  Malzonvilliers  where  Suzanne 
was  accustomed  to  walk  at  this  hour,  a  book  or  some 
needlework  in  her  hand.  He  accosted  her  resolutely  and 
related  to  her  the  conversation  which  he  had  just  had 
with  her  father ;  his  voice  trembled,  but  bis  glance  was 
steady.  Suzanne  had  felt  herself  blush  at  Jacques'  first 
word,  but  soon  overcoming  her  emotions,  she  had  fixed 
upon  her  lover  that  clear  and  serene  look  which  beamed 
like  a  star  in  the  depths  of  her  blue  eyes. 

"Your  father  has  left  me  no  hope,  mademoiselle, "  said 
Jacques,  after  he  had  finished  his  narrative;  "neverthe- 
less I  am  determined  to  undertake  everything  to  merit 
you  Do  you  permit  me?" 

"Do  you  love  me,  Jacques?"  said  the  young  girl,  in  that 
sweet  and  vibrating  voice  which  sounded  like  crystal. 

"Do  I  love  you?    I  would  give  my  life  for  my  sister 


THE  FIRST  TEA.ES.  23 

Claudine;  but,  mademoiselle,  it  seems  to  me — and  God 
pardon  me  this  blasphemy — that  I  would  give  my  soul's 
safety  for  you." 

"I  shall  then  be  your  wife  one  day,  my  friend, "  said 
Suzanne,  extending  her  hand  to  Jacques,  who  felt  his  heart 
melt  at  these  words.  "Both  of  us  are  very  young,  almost 
two  children, "  she  added,  with  a  smile,  "but  God  will 
come  to  our  aid." 

"I  have  a  strong  heart,"  exclaimed  Jacques.  "Oh, 
mademoiselle,  I  shall  win  you." 

"I  count  on  it,  and  I  promise  you  to  never  belong  to  any 
one  but  you." 

Jacques  wished  to  kiss  Suzanne's  hand,  but  Suzanne 
opened  her  arms,  and  the  two  children  embraced  each 
other.  Both  were  at  the  same  time  grave  and  ingenuous. 
They  believed  in  their  love. 

"Go  and  merit  me,"  said  Suzanne,  her  cheeks  humid 
and  blushing;  "I  shall  wait  for  you." 

They  exchanged  a  last  oath  and  separated. 

Jacques  went  back  to  the  cottage,  serious  but  no  longer 
sad.  He  at  once  imparted  to  Guillaume  Grinedal  what  had 
taken  place  during  the  day. 

"We  love  each  other,"  he  added,  "and  we  shall  marry." 

The  father  looked  at  the  swallows  which  were  flying  far 
off  in  the  blue  sky. 

"Lovers'  oaths!"  said  he,  shaking  his  bald  head.  "But 
whether  they  last  or  not  matters  little,  my  son,  you  must 
go  away." 

"Such  was  my  intention,"  replied  Jacques. 

Father  and  son  pressed  each  other's  hands. 

"The  daughter  belongs  to  the  father, "  said  Guillaume 
Grinedal.  "Monsieur  de  Malzonvilliers  has  been  kind  to 
us ;  he  must  not  accuse  you  of  having  wished  to  sow  dis- 
order in  his  house.  You  will  leave  to-morrow  without 
seeking  to  see  Suzanne  again." 

Jacques  hesitated. 

"It  must  be  so,"  repeated  the  elder. 

"I  shall  leave,"  said  the  son;  "I  shall  leave  without 
seeing  her  again." 

Toward  evening,  at  the  accustomed  hour,  they  sat  down 
around  the  table.  The  dinner  was  barely  touched.  They 
sat  in  silence.  Jacques  did  not  eat,  and  the  refrain  of  the 
songs  which  he  was  accustomed  to  hum  died  upon  his  lips. 
Claudine  did  not  wish  to  speak,  for  fear  of  bursting  into 
sobs.  She  turned  aside  at  times  to  dry  her  eyes.  Jacques 
and  Guillaume  tried  to  appear  calm,  but  the  morsels  which 


24  THE  FIKST  TEAES. 

they  carried  to  their  lips  they  again  placed  back  untouched 
upon  their  plates.  After  the  evening  prayer  the  father 
embraced  his  three  children.  He  retained  Jacques  the 
longest  upon  his  heart. 

"Go  to  sleep,"  he  said  to  him;  "but  previously  ask  God 
for  courage  to  live  the  life  which  begins  for  you  to-mor- 
row." 

The  father  withdrew,  and  the  three  children  began  to 
weep.  Not  one  had  the  strength  to  express  his  disappoint- 
ment, and  each  of  them  found  fewer  words  to  say  than 
kisses  to  give.  Toward  dawn  the  family  gathered  together 
on  the  threshold  of  the  door.  Jacques  had  put  on  large 
shoes  and  gaiters,  a  leather  belt  tightened  his  blouse 
around  his  waist,  a  small  haversack  was  suspended  to  his 
shoulders,  and  his  hand  was  armed  with  a  stout  stick  of 
holly  wood.  Pierre  and  Claudine  were  sobbing.  Jacques 
was  slightly  pale,  but  his  look  had  regained  all  its  assur- 
ance and  firmness. 

"Where  are  you  going,  my  son?"  said  the  father. 

Even  at  this  epoch  Paris  was  the  magic  city,  the  radiant 
center  which  attracted  every  active  intelligence,  every 
audacious  mind,  every  unquiet  imagination.  Jacques  had 
not  for  a  moment  thought  of  the  details  of  the  extreme 
part  which  he  had  chosen,  nevertheless  at  his  father's 
question,  he  unhesitatingly  replied : 

"To  Paris." 

"It  is  a  great  city,  full  of  perils  and  surprises.  Many 
have  arrived  there  poor  like  yourself,  and  have  gone  away 
rich,  but  better  to  go  away  from  it  miserable  than  to  leave 
your  honesty  there.  May  God  bless  you,  my  son. ' ' 

Jacques  knelt  down  between  his  brother  and  sister,  and 
Guillaume  placed  his  trembling  hands  upon  the  forehead 
of  his  first-born  child.  After  he  had  risen,  the  father 
wished  to  slip  in  Jacques'  hand  a  purse,  in  which  some 
gold  shone,  but  Jacques  gave  it  back  to  him. 

"Keep  this  gold,"  he  said  to  him;  "it  is  Claudine's 
dowry.  I  have  arms  and  in  my  haversack  fifty  livres 
which  I  have  earned." 

The  father  did  not  insist,  but  drawing  from  his  bosom  a 
jewel  attached  to  a  ribbon,  he  passed  it  around  Jacques' 
neck. 

"Do  you  recognize  it,  Jacques?"  he  said  to  him.  '  'It  is 
the  medallion  lost  by  the  stranger  five  years  ago.  You 
have  well  earned  it,  therefore  keep  it.  If  you  again  come 
across  the  gentleman  to  whom  it  belongs,  you  will  return 
it  to  him,  and  perhaps  he  will  recall  the  hospitality  of  our 


A  STEP  IN  LIFE.  25 

roof.    Let  us  embrace  each  other  now,  and  may  God  guide 

you." 

Jacques  first  embraced  Guillaume  and  Pierre.  Claudine 
had  remained  slightly  in  the  rear;  when  it  was  her  turn, 
she  threw  herself  on  Jacques'  neck. 

"I  embrace  you  for  myself  first,"  she  whispered  to  him, 
so  low  that  her  voice  glided  like  a  breath  into  the  trav- 
eler's ear;  "afterward  for  her." 

Jacques  trembled. 

"Yes,  for  her,"  his  sister  resumed;  "she  herself  has 
recommended  me  to  do  so." 

Jacques  passionately  pressed  Claudine  to  his  heart  at 
the  recollection  of  Suzanne.  He  looked  at  the  sky  full  of 
new  courage,  his  eye  shining  with  hope. 

The  first  rays  of  dawn  lit  up  the  dewy  plains.  On  the 
horizon  floated  a  thousand  gilded  vapors,  and  the  road  was 
lost  in  the  midst  of  solitudes  bathed  in  light.  Paris  was 
yonder,  behind  that  flaming  horizon;  Suzanne  was  the 
reward  of  triumph.  Jacques  snatched  himself  from  Clau- 
dine's  arms  and  took  his  departure. 


CHAPTER  III. 

A    STEP    IN    LIFE. 

At  some  hundred  steps  from  the  cottage,  the  road  made 
a  turn  and  led  up  a  small  hill.  Arrived  at  the  top,  Jacques 
turned  back.  Upon  the  threshold  of  the  door,  Guillaume 
Grinedal  was  standing,  and  near  him,  kneeling  upon  the 
ground,  Pierre  and  Claudine  holding  his  hands  in  theirs. 
Behind  him  Jacques  left  all  his  happiness,  all  that  he  had 
loved — the  garden  filled  with  shade  and  delightfully  cool, 
the  tranquil  retreat  where  he  had  stammered  his  first 
prayer  and  dreamed  his  first  dreams  of  love,  the  great 
plains  which  had  protected  his  soul  with  their  solitude 
and  their  serenity,  the  vast  chateau,  vailed  by  old  elms, 
where  he  had  so  often  sighed,  without  knowing  the  cause 
of  his  sighs,  at  the  noise  of  two  infantile  lips  singing  a 
song  of  the  country.  The  tawny  oxen  wandering  over  the 
fertile  meadows,  the  bulls  ruminating  in  the  shade  of  the 
beech  trees,  the  herd  filing  along  the  path,  the  black 
swarms  of  crows  dispersed  about  the  oaks,  the  young  girl 
passing  the  babbling  brook  with  bare  feet,  the  stupid 
farmer  urging  on  his  loitering  team,  and  even  the  larks 


26  A  STEP  IN  LIFE. 

hidden  in  the  hollow  furrows  or  lost  in  the  immense  azure 
— all  the  beings  and  all  the  things  of  creation  had  a  part  in 
that  life  which  had  expanded  like  a  limpid  and  fresh 
stream  between  two  banks  of  soft  grass.  Behind  him  was 
repose  and  peace ;  before  hira  was  the  unknown  and  its 
numberless  accidents. 

Jacques  leaned  against  the  stick  of  holly,  and  let  his 
gaze  wander  far  away.  A  thousand  recollections  awoke  in 
a  crowd  in  his  heart ;  for  a  long  time  he  listened  to  their 
confused  voices  which  told  him  of  the  past  filled  with 
sweet  joys  and  honest  labors,  and  took  pleasure  in  their 
mysterious  narratives ;  his  eyes  turned  toward  the  beauti- 
ful foliage  which  formed  for  Malzonvilliers  a  green  belt. 
Two  tears  which  came  to  wet  his  hands,  without  his  hav- 
ing felt  them  flow  over  his  cheeks,  distracted  him  from 
his  dream.  How  many  others  had  not  already  fallen  to 
the  ground?  Jacques  shook  his  head  and  bounded  to  the 
other  side  of  the  hill.  After  having  passed  the  night  at 
Fauquenbergne,  he  arrived  the  next  day  at  Fruges.  In  the 
inn  where  he  stopped  he  heard  that  a  troop  of  freebooters 
had  penetrated  into  the  country  between  Aire  and  St. 
Omer.  They  belonged,  it  was  said,  to  a  corps  of  Hunga- 
rian and  Croatian  soldiers  which  the  Spanish  government 
had  licensed,  and  who  sought  to  amass  a  large  booty  be- 
fore leaving  Flanders. 

The  inhabitants  who  were  in  easy  circumstances  were 
retiring  in  all  haste  in  the  direction  of  St.  Pal  or  Mon- 
treuil;  the  others  were  concealing  their  most  precious 
possessions.  Among  those  who  were  decamping  in  all 
haste  not  one  had  yet  seen  anything,  yet  no  one  stopped, 
and  no  one  dared  turn  back  his  head.  Jacques  thought 
that  each  one  fled  because  he  saw  the  others  fly,  and  like 
the  resolute  fellow  that  he  was,  he  determined  to  continue 
his  journey,  wishing  to  arrive  at  Hesdin  before  night. 
The  day  was  hot,  and  Jacques  had  been  walking  since 
morning ;  appetite  began  to  make  itself  felt  along  with 
fatigue.  Perceiving  neither  Hungarians  nor  Croats, 
Jacques  threw  himself  upon  the  side  of  the  road  near  a 
spring,  which  bubbled  in  the  shade  of  a  clump  of  trees, 
and  drawing  from  his  satchel  some  provisions  with  which 
he  had  provided  himself  at  Fruges,  he  dined  merrily.  At 
this  place  the  grass  was  thick  and  the  shade  cool.  Jacques 
looked  over  the  road,  and  seeing  nothing,  neither  foot- 
soldier  nor  cavalier,  he  stretched  himself  out  like  a  shep- 
herd of  Virgil  at  the  foot  of  a  beech.  He  thought  at  first 
and  a  great  deal  of  Mademoiselle  de  Malzonvilliers  and 


A  STEP  IN  LIFE.  27 

sighed ;  then  at  the  recollection  of  the  good  people  whom 
he  had  encountered  flying  like  hares,  he  smiled.  Undoubt- 
edly he  was  going  to  think  of  many  other  things  still, 
when  he  went  to  sleep. 

Jacques  only  wished  to  rest,  but  youth  proposes  and  the 
fresh  grass  disposes.  He  was  sleeping  then  as  one  sleeps 
at  eighteen,  when  a  great  noise  of  horses  neighing  and 
prancing  awoke  him  in  surprise.  Seven  or  eight  cavaliers 
were  circling  around  him,  while  two  others  were  unstrap- 
ping his  haversack,  after  having  leaped  from  the  saddle. 
Jacques  rose  at  a  bound,  and  at  the  first  blow  of  his  fist 
felled  one  of  the  pillagers.  He  was  going  to  take  the  other 
by  the  throat  when  three  or  four  cavaliers  pounced  upon 
him  and  overthrew  him.  Before  he  could  rise  again  a  vio- 
lent blow  stunned  him,  and  he  remained  stretched  at  the 
feet  cf  the  horses. 

Only  three  minutes  had  been  needed  for  the  cavalier  to 
unstrap  his  valise ;  it  did  not  take  them  two  to  pillage  the 
money  and  the  effects,  to  despoil  Jacques  of  his  coat,  and 
to  disappear  at  a  gallop.  Jacques  remained  immovable  for 
some  moments,  extended  upon  his  back.  The  large  brim 
of  his  felt  hat  having  softened  the  force  of  the  blow 
which  was  intended  for  him,  Jacques  was  only  stunned. 
When  he  raised  himself  again,  half  naked  and  moneyless, 
he  ran  to  an  elevation  to  reconnoiter  the  road  which  the 
pillagers  had  taken.  A  whirlwind  of  smoke,  lashed  by 
the  wind,  undulated  in  the  plain ;  two  villages  were  burn- 
ing; between  the  crackling  roofs  of  thatch  passed  the 
frightened  animals.  A  dull  cloud  pitted  with  sparks  was 
expanding  in  the  distance.  When  the  fire  gained  a  straw- 
stack  or  some  barn  filled  with  hay  a  jet  of  flame  divided 
the  somber  curtain  with  its  red  and  forked  lightnings.  A 
body  of  cavalry  was  ranged  in  line  of  battle  on  the  border 
of  a  stream.  Jacques  had  never  seen  a  similar  uniform, 
which  was  composed  of  a  white  coat  with  yellow  facings 
and  black  pants.  At  the  head  of  it,  going  and  coming 
from  one  end  of  the  squadron  to  the  other,  rode  a  cavalier 
whose  countenance  indicated  that  he  was  the  chief.  He 
had  no  doubt  but  what  he  had  to  do  with  marauders  be- 
longing to  the  enemy,  but  in  his  naive  sentiment  of  equity, 
he  fully  believed  that  the  chief  would  cause  to  be  re- 
turned to  him  what  had  been  stolen  from  him.  If  the  King 
of  Spain  and  the  Emperor  of  Germany  made  war  on  the 
King  of  France,  they  ought  not  to  make  it  on  travelers. 
At  the  sight  of  a  young  man  advancing  toward  them, 
bare-headed  and  coatless,  the  captain  drew  up. 


28  A  STEP  IN  LIFE. 

"What  do  you -wish?"  lie  brusquely  said  to  him,  when 
Jacques  was  at  two  steps  from  his  horse. 

"Justice,"  Jacques  tranquilly  replied. 

The  chief  smiled  and  passed  his  long  and  nervous  fingers 
through  his  mustache. 

Two  cavaliers  who  followed  him  exchanged  some  rapid 
words ;  they  spoke  rather  with  the  throat  than  with  the 
lips,  and  their  idiom  struck  Jacques'  ears  like  the  croak- 
ing of  ravens. 

"Of  what  do  you  complain?"  said  the  chief. 

"My  valise,  the  effects  which  it  contained,  my  money, 
even  my  clothes — everything  has  been  taken  from  me. ' ' 

"They  left  you  your  skin,  and  you  complain.  You  are 
exacting." 

Jacques  thought  he  had  not  well  understood. 

"But  I  tell  you " 

"And  I  tell  you  to  hold  your  tongue!"  exclaimed  the 
chief.  "You  will  answer  when  you  are  questioned." 

The  chief  turned  to  his  officers.  During  their  short  con- 
ference Jacques  crossed  his  arms.  The  idea  of  flying  did 
not  enter  his  mind ;  it  seemed  to  him  impossible  that  any 
further  harm  could  be  done  him. 

"You  are  a  Frenchman,   undoubtedly?'  said  the  chief 
returning  to  him. 
'Yes." 

'From  this  neighborhood,  perhaps?' 
'From  St.  Omer." 

'You  must  know,  then,  the  secret  roads  for  gaining  the 
frontiers  of  Flanders. ' ' 
'Quite  well." 

'You  will  have  to  serve  us,  then,  as  guide  that  far. 
Though  your  compatriots  decamp  like  flocks  of  ducks  at 
our  approach,  I  believe  that  we  have  advanced  too  far.  I 
have  enough  of  this  kind  of  booty.  However,  if  there  are 
some  good  chateaux  in  the  neighborhood,  you  will  lead  us 
to  them.  Go  ahead." 

Jacques  did  not  budge. 

"Did  you  hear  me?"  repeated  the  chief,  touching  him 
with  the  end  of  his  switch. 

"Perfectly  well." 

"Then  march." 

"No,  I  shall  remain  here." 

"Remain  here!"  exclaimed  the  chief,  and  urging  on  his 
horse,  he  brought  him  up  alongside  the  immovable 
Jacques. 

The  icy  tube  of  a  pistol  touched  Jacques'  forehead. 


A  STEP  IN  LIFE.  29 

"Come,  do  you  know  that  all  I  have  to  do  is  to  move  my 
finger  in  order  to  blow  out  your  brains?"  said  the  chief. 

"Move  it,  then,  for  I  shall  not  serve  you  as  guide  in  nay 
country  and  against  my  own  people." 

The  pistol  was  slowly  lowered. 

"Then  you  do  not  wish  to  lead  us  to  the  frontiers," 
added  the  chief,  slipping  his  pistol  under  the  saddle-bow. 

"I  cannot." 

"Then  it  is  I  who  will  lead  you  there." 

The  chief  spoke  some  words  in  a  foreign  tongue,  and  be- 
fore Jacques  could  suspect  the  danger  which  threatened 
him,  three  or  four  soldiers  had  seized  and  bound  him. 

"There  is  in  the  company  some  old  halters  which  will 
do  you  for  a  cravat,"  continued  the  chief,  addressing  him- 
self'to  Jacques.  "When  we  come  to  the  limits  of  Artois  I 
intend  to  leave  you  there,  suspended  to  the  most  beautiful 
branch  of  the  most  beautiful  oak  I  can  find,  in  order  to 
make  you  serve  as  an  example  to  the  inhabitants  of  the 
place.  If  the  ravens  permit  you,  scoundrel,  you  will  have 
leisure  to  there  meditate  on  the  results  of  your  honesty." 

Upon  a  sign  from  the  chief,  two  soldiers  threw  Jacques 
behind  a  cavalier.  They  tied  him  on  the  saddle  like  a  sack, 
and  the  whole  troop  started  at  a  trot  in  the  direction  of 
Hesdin.  Jacques,  bent  in  two,  beat  with  his  head  and  his 
feet  the  horse's  flanks ;  the  blood  rushed  to  his  extremi- 
ties, his  face  became  purple,  his  eyes  grew  blood-shot,  a 
painful  and  confused  buzzing  filled  his  ears,  the  name  of 
Suzanne  expired  upon  his  lips,  and  he  closed  his  eyes.  But 
just  as  the  red  vail  which  floated  before  his  half-closed 
eyes  was  obscuring  most  his  mind,  he  carried,  by  a  most 
violent  effort,  his  hands  to  his  head.  The  straps  which 
bound  them  touched  his  lips.  He  bit  them,  and  the  in- 
stinct of  self-preservation  returning  with  the  hope  of  de- 
liverance, he  soon  loosened  the  knots  with  his  teeth.  The 
cavalier  was  singing  and  polishing  the  guard  of  his  saber. 
Jacques  suspended  himself  by  one  hand  to  the  horse's 
crupper,  and  with  the  other  undid  the  strap  which  held 
him  to  the  saddle.  When  he  felt  his  limbs  free  he  looked 
around  him  to  see  if  any  soldier  of  the  squadron  was 
watching  him.  The  chief  and  the  officers  were  riding  in 
front,  and  the  squadron  followed  them  without  thinking 
of  the  captive.  The  cavalier,  busy  with  his  weapon,  did 
not  press  his  horse,  who,  more  heavily  loaded  than  the 
others,  had  lost  some  ground  and  was  now  at  the  rear  end 
of  the  column.  Jacques  let  himself  glide  softly  down  into 
the  road.  No  sooner  than  he  felt  the  ground  under  his  feet 


30  A  STEP  IN  LIFE. 

all  his  vigor  returned  to  him,  and  turning  aside  from  the 
road,  he  took  his  way  through  the  fields.  But  scarcely  had 
he  made  two  hundred  steps  when  he  heard  a  detonation, 
and  at  the  same  moment,  a  ball  plowed  up  the  sand  at  his 
feet.  He  turned  his  head  and  saw  three  or  four  cavaliers 
in  pursuit  of  him,  muskets  in  hand. 

Jacques  was  lithe  and  vigorous.  He  crossed  hedges  and 
ditches  like  a  squirrel,  hut  he  could  not  hold  out  long 
against  horses.  The  cavalier  to  whose  care  he  had  heen 
confided  showed  himself  the  most  ardent  in  his  pursuit. 

Already  he  was  some  hundred  steps  in  advance  of  his 
comrades,  when  Jacques,  realizing  the  uselessness  of  his 
flight,  stopped.  The  cavalier  came  galloping  up  to  him 
with  raised  saber,  but  Jacques  avoided  the  stroke  by 
throwing  himself  to  one  side,  and  seizing  the  soldier  by 
the  left  leg,  he  pulled  him  down  from  off  the  horse.  While 
the  soldier,  bruised  by  his  fall,  was  writhing  on  the  ground, 
Jacques  leaped  into  the  saddle  and  rode  away.  For  some 
minutes  the  comrades  of  the  vanquished  man  followed 
after  him,  two  or  three  balls  scratched  the  soil  about  him, 
but  soon  the  marauders  slacked  their  course.  The  squadron 
was  far  behind  them,  and  in  front  there  extended  an  un- 
known country,  where  the  enemy  might  rise  up  at  any 
moment.  One  of  them  drew  up  his  horse  and  turned  back, 
the  second  imitated  him,  then  the  third  also,  and  Jacques 
no  longer  heard  their  furious  gallop  sounding  in  his  ears. 
In  his  turn  he  tightened  the  reins  and  put  his  steed  to  a 
slow  trot  Jacques  had  not  ridden  a  quarter  of  an  hour  in 
the  direction  of  St.  Pal  when  he  discovered,  beyond 
Fleury,  a  troop  of  cavaliers  carrying  some  foot-soldiers  on 
the  croups  of  their  horses.  The  first  encounter  had  taught 
the  falconer's  son  enough  of  the  usages  of  war  to  render 
him  circumspect.  For  a  moment  he  thought  of  entering  a 
little  patch  of  woods,  when  a  new  reflection  decided  him 
to  push  straight  on.  He  was  too  close  to  St.  Pal,  a  strong 
city  occupied  by  a  large  garrison,  to  fear  that  the  enemy 
had  dared  venture  this  far.  A  sentry  who  was  riding  two 
or  three  hundred  steps  from  the  troop,  astonished  to  see  a 
great  fellow  having  only  a  pair  of  pants  and  a  shirt  gallop- 
ing upon  a  thoroughly  equipped  horse,  stopped  Jacques. 

"Lead  me  to  your  captain, "  said  Jacques  to  the  most 
conspicuous  one  of  the  band. 

"That  is  just  what  I  was  going  to  propose  to  you,  my 
comrade,"  replied  the  brigadier. 

The  captain  was  a  handsome  young  man  whose  good  ap- 
pearance was  enhanced  by  the  military  costume.  A  slender 


A  STEP  IN  LIFE.  31 

black  mustache  set  off  lips  of  the  purest  contour.  A  deep 
pallor,  spread  over  his  delicate  features,  gave  his  physiog- 
nomy an  inexpressible  distinction  and  charm.  Jacques 
felt  reassured  at  the  first  look.  Friend  or  enemy,  he  was 
dealing  with  a  brave  gentleman.  The  officer  silently  con- 
sidered Jacques  for  a  moment,  and  a  passing  smile  lit  up 
his  countenance,  over  which  melancholy  had  thrown  its 
mysterious  vail. 

"If  you  are  a  Frenchman,"  he  at  last  said,  in  a  clear 
and  sweet  voice,  "fear  nothing,  you  are  among  French- 
men." 

Jacques  related  to  him  what  had  happened  to  him,  his 
sleep,  his  capture,  his  deliverance,  the  peril  which  he  had 
escaped.  The  officer  listened  to  him,  twisting  the  end  of 
his  mustache,  his  eyes  fixed  upon  those  of  the  young  man. 
Jacques  understood  the  significance  of  this  look.  He 
blushed. 

"You  take  me  for  a  spy?"  said  he,  in  a  quick  tone. 

"Not  now;  cowardice  doas  not  possess  those  honest 
features  and  that  proud  look.  It  trembles,  but  it  does  not 
blush.  You  are  a  brave  fellow,  and  you  shall  lead  us  to 
the  place  whore  you  left  the  freebooters." 

"Willingly.  When  I  lost  sierht  of  them  they  were  taking 
the  road  to  the  Abbaye  de  St.  Georges,  near  Bergueneuse, 
and  cannot  be  more  than  a  league  from  here." 

Upon  the  captain's  order,  Jacques  was  furnished  with  a 
coat,  hat,  saber,  and  pistols. 

"Did  you  ever  handle  these  togs?"  said  the  officer. 

"You  can  judge,  my  captain,  if  we  come  across  the  ban- 
dits who  robbed  me." 

"Go  ahead,  then." 

Jacques  placed  himself  at  the  head  of  the  troop,  which 
was  composed  of  almost  two  hundred  cavaliers  carrying 
behind  them  as  many  grenadiers.  It  had  jusc  been  detailed 
from  the  garrison  of  St.  Pal,  to  repulse  the  marauders  of 
the  Spanish  army  who  had  been  described  by  the  scouts. 

The  officer  rode  by  Jacques'  side. 

"You  handle  your  horse  like  an  old  soldier,"  he  said  to 
him  at  ohe  end  of  five  mintues.  "Where  did  you  learn 
horsemanship? ' ' 

"At  my  father's,  who  lives  at  St.  Omer." 

"Ah!  you  are  from  St.  Omer?  Then  you  have,  perhaps, 
known  an  honest  falconer  named  Guillaume  Grinedal?" 

"How  could  I  fail  to  know  him,  since  he  is  my  father." 

The  officer  trembled.  He  turned  his  face  toward  Jacques 
and  began  to  consider  him  attentively. 


32  THE  SKIKMISH. 

"Your  father!  That  old  Guillaume  Grinedal  who  has  so 
often  held  me  on  his  knees  is  your  father?  Your  name  is 
Jacques,  then?" 

It  was  Jacques'  turn  to  tremble.  He  looked  at  the  offi- 
cer, deeply  moved,  seeking  to  read  upon  his  countenance 
a  name  which  his  heart  repeated  in  a  low  tone. 

"My  name?  You  know  my  name?5'  said  he. 
The  officer  gave  him  his  hand. 

"Have  you,  then,  forgotten  Monsieur  d'Assonville?" 
he  said. 

"Our  benefactor!"  exclaimed  Jacques. 

And  he  pressed  his  lips  to  the  captain's  hand. 

"Not  that  one,  Jacques,  but  his  son,  Gaston  d'Asson- 
ville. The  father  is  dead.  He  was  Guillaume's  friend;  the 
son  will  be  that  of  Jacques." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE    SKIRMISH. 

The  troop  commanded  by  Monsieur  d'Assonville,  cap- 
tain of  light-horse,  was  still  ten  minutes'  ride  from  the 
Abbaye  de  St.  Georges,  whose  white  walls  were  outlined 
between  some  clumps  of  trees  to  the  right  of  the  road, 
when  gun-shots  were  heard  a  short  distance  away. 

A  peasant  who  was  fleeing  upon  a  sorry  nag  informed 
Monsieur  d'Assonville  that  twenty  marauders  had  pre- 
sented themselves  at  the  abbey,  had  forced  the  doors  and 
ordered  the  nuns  to  prepare  provisions  for  the  whole 
troop,  if  they  did  not  wish  to  see  their  house  fired. 

"What  did  the  abbe  do?"  asked  the  captain,  whose 
eyes  grew  inflamed. 

"Bless  you!"  said  the  peasant,  "he  emptied  the  cellar 
and  had  the  tables  set." 

"Well,  we  shall  eat  the  dinner  after  the  ball." 

"Hum!"  said  the  other,  "it  is  my  opinion,  my  officer, 
that  many  of  the  dancers  will  be  missing  at  the  feast.  The 
Hungarians  are  numerous." 

"How  many?" 

"Six  or  seven  hundred,  all  on  horseback  and  well  armed. 
Their  chief  has  had  the  trumpet  sounded ;  the  scattered 
bands  have  collected  from  every  direction,  and  while 
waiting  for  supper  to  be  prepared,  they  are  pillaging 
Auvin." 


THE  SKIRMISH.  33 

The  village  was  on  fire,  and  the  fusillade  burst  in  the 
plain. 

Monsieur  d'Assonville  rose  in  his  stirrups,  sword  in 
hand.  He  was  no  longer  the  pale  young  man  with  the  col- 
orless forehead.  Lightning  flashed  from  his  eyes,  and 
blood  reddened  his  cheeks. 

"Forward!"  he  exclaimed,  in  a  thundering  tone,  and 
with  the  end  of  his  sword  he  pointed  out  to  his  soldiers  the 
flaming  village.  The  whole  troop  moved  off. 

At  sight  of  the  French  the  clarions  sounded,  and  the 
enemy  ranged  themselves  in  line  of  battle  at  some  distance 
from  Auvin,  on  the  banks  of  the  Ternoise.  It  was  a  nu- 
merous and  well-mounted  troop;  but  Monsieur  d'Asson- 
ville was  one  of  those  who  do  not  know  how  to  draw  back. 
He  made  the  grenadiers  alight  and  divided  them  into 
platoons  of  from  twenty  to  twenty-five  men  between  his 
cavaliers. 

"Make  use  of  the  gun  as  we  shall  the  saber,"  he  said  to 
them,  "and  we  shall  make  these  devilish  scoundrels  pass 
over  the  river  without  boats." 

The  grenadiers  cried,  "Vive  le  roi!"  and  got  their  arms 
in  readiness.  Just  as  Monsieur  d'Assonville  was  going  to 
give  the  signal  of  attack  an  old  officer  touched  him  lightly 
on  the  arm. 

"Monsieur  le  Comte,"  he  said  to  him,  "they  are  two  to 
our  one  and  have  the  advantage  of  position." 

"What!  it  is  you,  Monsieur  du  Coudrais,  who  counts  the 
enemy?" 

"I  must  account  to  the  king,  my  master,  for  the  lives  of 
all  these  brave  men,"  said  the  officer,  indicating  with  the 
end  of  his  sword  the  impatient  soldiers.  "Now  order,  and 
you  will  see  if  I  hesitate  to  let  myself  be  killed." 

"No,  monsieur,  you  shall  triumph  with  your  grenadiers. 
They  are  two  to  our  one.  Well,  we  have  for  us  the  sight 
of  that  burning  village !  Each  hut  which  ialls  in,  cries  for 
revenge.  Forward!" 

Every  member  of  the  troop  heard  these  words.  The 
electrified  soldiers  bounded  forward,  and  Jacques,  one 
of  the  first  to  feel  the  transport,  felt  running  in  his 
veins  the  shudder  of  war.  The  Hungarians,  after 
having  prepared  for  battle,  awaited  the  French.  Thanks 
to  the  superiority  of  numbers,  they  counted  upon 
an  easy  victory ;  far  from  thinking  of  placing  the  river 
between  themselves  and  their  assailants — which  would 
have  doubled  their  strength  by  the  advantage  of  position 
—they  ran  to  the  encounter  pell-mell  and  without  order 


34  THE  SKIRMISH. 

as  soon  as  they  saw  their  opponents  moving  forward.  The 
shock  was  terrible ;  the  fusillade  burst  along  all  the  line, 
and  the  cavaliers  clashed  together  with  saber  and  pistol  in 
hand.  For  a  moment  one  might  have  believed  success  to 
be  doubtful.  The  combatants  formed  a  single  moving  mass 
bound  by  anger  and  the  savage  love  of  blood ;  from  this 
confused  mass  mounted  a  noise  of  steel  mixed  with  howl- 
ings  of  death.  At  each  moment  a  man  disappeared  in  the 
midst  of  that  ocean  of  heads  which  was  surrounded  by  a 
thousand  flashes  of  light,  where  sounded  the  din  of  arms, 
and  the  space  was  contracted ;  but  the  discharges  of  Mon- 
sieur du  Coudrais'  grenadiers,  who  were  fighting  in  good 
order,  had  lit  up  the  enemy's  ranks;  the  Hungarians, 
crushed  under  a  hail  of  balls  coming  from  every  side  at 
the  same  time,  pressed  by  the  fiery  impetuosity  of  the 
cavaliers  who  were  inflamed  by  Monsieur  d'Assonville's 
example,  gave  way  and  lost  ground.  A  soldier  looked  back, 
another  turned  bridle,  a  third  threw  himself  all  armed 
into  the  Ternoise,  ten  or  twelve  took  to  flight,  an  entire 
squadron  gave  way,  then  finally  the  whole  troop  recoiled 
in  a  frightful  disorder. 

"Forward!"  again  cried  Monsieur  d'Assonville,  and 
urging  his  horse  up  to  the  last  combatants,  he  precipitated 
the  whole  troop  into  the  river.  When  the  horses  plunged 
their  feet  in  the  water  it  was  a  rout.  Hungarians  and 
Croats  rode  away,  at  a  gallop,  throwing  aside  their  mus- 
kets, and  the  saber  cut  to  pieces  the  fugitives. 

Jacques  saw  for  the  first  time  and  in  close  proximity  all 
the  horrors  of  combat.  Emotion  made  his  lips  tremble; 
but  the  prancing  of  the  horses,  the  flashing  of  swords,  the 
noise  of  the  explosions,  the  odor  of  powder,  excited  his 
youthful  courage ;  he  brandished  his  saber  with  a  firm 
hand  and  rushed  straight  before  him.  A  Croat  whom  he 
rubbed  against  in  his  course  fired  a  pistol  almost  in  his 
face;  the  ball  traversed  Jacques' hat  two  inches  from  his 
forehead.  Jacques  replied  by  a  furious  thrust.  The  Croat 
fell  upon  his  back  with  extended  arms ;  the  saber  had  en- 
tered his  throat.  Jacques  felt  spouting  upon  his  hand  the 
warm  and  boiling  blood.  He  looked  at  the  paling  soldier 
who  was  carried  away  by  his  frightened  horse.  It  was  the 
first  man  he  had  killed.  Jacques  lowered  his  saber  point 
and  shivered,  but  he  was  in  the  first  row,  and  the  whirl- 
wind pushed  him  forward.  In  the  midst  of  the  melee 
Jacques  encountered  Monsieur  d'Assonville  and  staid  by 
his  side.  These  two  were  the  first  to  make  their  horses 
enter  the  reddened  river,  but.  when  only  fugitives  were 


THE  SKIRMISH.  35 

left  they  sheathed  their  sabers.  The  captain  extended  his 
hand  to  the  soldier. 

"You  have  conducted  yourself  well,  Jacques,  "he  said 
to  him.  "Mordieu!  you  were  right  to  wish  to  measure 
yourself  against  these  robbers.  You  have  paid  them  the 
price  of  your  valise!" 

"Faith,  sir,  I  have  done  what  I  could." 

"Eh?  my  comrade,  those  men  running  will  tell  you  that 
you  have  done  too  much." 

The  battle-field  was  encumbered  with  dead  and 
wounded;  the  enemy  had  left  three  hundred  of  their  men 
upon  the  ground ;  a  hundred  had  remained  in  the  hands 
of  the  French,  so  that  the  freebooters  had  lost  the  half  of 
their  troop.  Meanwhile  the  clarions  sounded,  and  the 
soldiers  scattered  in  all  directions  gathered  together  under 
their  guidons. 

"You  have  not  yet  joined  the  regiment,  my  boy,  "said 
Monsieur  d'Assonville  to  Jacques;  "therefore  go  about 
your  business.  Think  that  you  have  lost  one  valise,  and  do 
not  hesitate  to  reimburse  yourself  with  two." 

He  took  his  way  toward  the  river,  head  bowed  and  soul 
sick.  How  far  away  already  was  the  peace  of  the  cottage. 
It  had  not  taken  two  days  for  Jacques  to  kill  four  or  five 
men  and  wound  seven  or  eight  others.  While  walking  in 
the  midst  of  dead  bodies,  his  eyes  fell  upon  his  hands. 
They  were  still  moist  and  red,  and  a  shiver  traversed  him. 
What  a  route  then  he  was  going  to  follow  to  reach  Su- 
zanne, and  what  a  bloody  beginning  his  love  had  just 
offered  him !  Jacques  was  standing  at  this  moment  where 
the  melee  had  been  most  furious.  The  ground  was  heaped 
with  corpses,  and  in  the  midst  of  the  extended  Hungarians 
his  vague  and  absent  looks  encountered  a  soldier  who, 
fallen  at  twenty  steps  from  the  Ternoise,  was  trying  to 
reach  the  bank.  The  Hungarian  was  crawling  upon  his 
hands  and  knees ;  he  dragged  himself  the  space  of  some 
feet,  then  sank  down.  Jacques  ran  to  him  and  raised  him. 

"Water!  water!"  said  the  Hungarian,  whose  face  was 
bathed  in  coagulated  blood.  "Water!  I  am  burning!" 

Jacques  transported  him  to  the  bank  of  the  Ternoise, 
and  presented  to  his  burning  lips  a  hat  filled  with  water. 

The  Hungarian  bathed  his  face  in  this  cold  water  and 
drank  eagerly. 

"My  throat  is  on  fire,  and  my  lips  are  like  two  hot 
irons,"  said  he,  licking  the  dripping  brim  of  the  hat. 

Jacques  leaned  him  against  the  trunk  of  a  tree  and  washed 
his  face  for  him.  The  Hungarian  had  received  a  saber  cut 


56  THE  SKIRMISH. 

upon  the  head  and  a  ball  in  the  stomach.  When  the  mud 
and  blood  were  cleaned  off  and  left  his  features  uncovered, 
Jacques  uttered  a  cry.  The  wounded  man  raised  his  eyes 
to  him. 

"Ah!  you  recognize  me  now,"  said  he,  with  a  bitter 
laugh.  "When  you  raised  me  I  said  nothing,  for  I  was 
thirsty.  Now  finish  me  if  you  wish  to  do  so." 

"Oh!"  said  Jacques,  with  an  expression  of  horror. 

"Parbleu!  you  have  the  right  to  do  it." 

"The  right  of  an  assassin!" 

"Ah!  you  have  those  scruples!  As  for  myself,  I  shall 

not  be  too  conscientious  if  some  day But  you  have 

placed  me  in  too  piteous  a  state  for  me  to  ever  begin  again. 
Diable!  you  have  avenged  yourseif  well." 

"No,  I  have  fought,  that  is  all." 

"Oh,  I  am  not  vexed  with  you  about  it.  If  I  had  cracked 
your  head  for  you,  all  this  would  not  have  happened.  It 
is  a  lesson,  but  it  is  a  little  late  for  me  to  make  use  of  it ; 
let  it  profit  you  at  least." 

The  officer  turned  over  on  his  side. 

"You  see,"  he  resumed,  "when  you  hold  an  enemy,  the 
shortest  way  is  to  blow  out  his  brains.  It  is  a  principle 
which  I  have  always  put  in  practice;  as  a  result  of  having 
forgotten  it  once,  you  see  to  what  I  am  reduced " 

A  convulsion  seized  the  Hungarian,  who  writhed  at  the 
foot  of  the  tree. 

"Water!  water!"  he  again  murmured.  "I  have  coals  of 
fire  in  my  stomach." 

Jacques  placed  a  hatful  at  his  side,  and  ran  to  seek  aid. 
He  found  Monsieur  d'Assonville  inspecting  his  troop,  fol- 
lowed by  a  quartermaster,  who  was  erasing  the  names  of 
the  dead  from  the  company's  book. 

"The  Hungarian  officer  who  wished  to  hang  me  on  the 
frontier  of  Artois  is  dying, "  Jacques  said  to  him;  "can 
I  not  get  him  transported  to  the  ambulance  so  that  he  can 
receive  the  care  which  his  condition  calls  for?" 

Monsieur  d'Assonville  looked  at  Jacques. 

"Ah!  it  is  the  captain  who  wished  to  hang  you  on  the 
frontier  of  Artois!  'Tis  well,  my  boy,  go  ahead." 

Jacques  left  with  two  grenadiers.  The  Hungarian  officer 
was  placed  upon  a  litter  lined  with  bundles  of  straw.  Some 
drops  of  blood  had  congealed  on  the  borders  of  his  open 
wounds,  and  his  teeth  chattered  with  cold.  The  falconer's 
son  covered  him  with  his  coat. 

"What  kind  of  a  heart  have  you?"  the  officer  brusquely 
said  to  him. 


THE  SKIRMISH.  37 

"The  same  as  all  the  world." 

"Parbleu!  You  are  indeed  the  first  inhabitant  of  that 
world  whom  I  have  met." 

The  eyes  of  the  Hungarian  shone  and  were  dimmed  turn 
by  turn ;  when  he  opened  them  he  looked  at  Jacques. 

"Perhaps  it  is  better,"  he  continued,  "that  I  should  be 
the  one  to  leave  and  you  to  remain.  1  am  of  no  account, 
and  you  have  the  air  of  an  honest  young  man.  Accident 
has  turned  out  to  be  right." 

The  Hungarian  was  silent  for  some  minutes ;  a  convul- 
sive trembling  agitated  him,  and  his  eyes  were  vailed. 
Suddenly  he  turned  them  toward  Jacques  filled  with  an 
extraordinary  fire. 

"Do  you  believe  that  there  is  something  up  there?"  he 
said  to  him,  pointing  to  the  sky  with  his  finger. 

"God  is  there." 

"Do  you  wish  to  give  me  your  hand?" 

Jacques  extended  his  hand  to  the  old  soldier,  who 
pressed  it  with  more  vigor  than  one  could  have  expected 
of  a  man  so  cruelly  wounded ;  he  threw  himself  back  upon 
the  straw  and  pulled  Jacques'  coat  over  him.  After  the 
lapse  of  a  moment,  Jacques  no  longer  hearing  him  speak 
or  complain,  leaned  toward  him. 

"How  are  you,  my  captain?"  he  said  to  him. 

"Quite  well,  my  friend." 

The  glance  was  keen,  the  face  softly  colored,  the  voice 
clear.  Jacques  was  silent,  thinking  that  the  Hungarian 
officer  wished  to  sleep.  When  they  arrived  at  the  ambu- 
lance, he  raised  the  coat ;  the  Hungarian  officer  was  dead. 
Two  hours  after,  the  troop  had  collected  at  the  Abbaye  de 
St.*  Georges,  around  tables  prepared  for  their  enemies. 
They  laughed  heartily  and  ate  with  a  good  appetite.  If  the 
wounded  were  pitied,  the  dead  were  forgotten ;  the  living 
congratulated  each  other,  and  everything  went  off  well 
enough.  Monsieur  d'Assonville  conducted  Jacques  to  a 
room  of  the  abbey  in  which  a  table  was  sqt. 

"Sit  down  there, "  he  said  to  him. 

"Me!  near  you?" 

"After  the  combat,  there  is  no  longer  either  master  or 
servant — there  are  only  soldiers.  Sit  down,  I  tell  you,  and 
relate  your  history  to  me. " 

Monsieur  d'Assonville  was  no  longer  the  brilliant  offi- 
cer whose  eyes  flashed  lightning  at  the  moment  of  battle ; 
the  sadness  had  returned  to  his  forehead  and  the  pallor  to 
his  cheeks,  where  the  sharp  line  of  his  mustache  was  out- 
lined like  a  pencil-mark  upon  alabaster ;  to  the  generous 


38  THE  SKIRMISH. 

ardor,  to  the  manly  pride,  to  the  bold  impatience  whose 
flame  just  now  colored  his  handsome  face,  a  sweet  and 
melancholy  smile  had  succeeded.  Jacques  felt  himself  at 
the  same  time  touched  and  attracted  by  that  mysterious 
sadness  whose  source  must  originate  in  the  depth  of  the 
heart.  He  sat  down  and  related  the  innocent  story  of  his 
youth,  of  his  love,  and  of  his  departure.  Monsieur  d'As- 
sonville  listened  to  him;  for  a  moment  his  eyes  were 
moistened  at  the  narrative  of  the  innocent  love  of  Jacques, 
but  this  moment  was  so  brief  that  Jacques  did  not  even 
see  his  humid  eyeball  shine.  Monsieur  d'Assonville  car- 
ried his  glass  to  his  mouth. 

"I  drink  to  your  hopes,"  said  he. 

Jacques  sighed. 

"It  is  the  fortune  of  the  poor!"  he  murmured.  "If 
your  sweetheart  has  an  honest  and  sincere  heart,  keep 
them ;  but  if  she  is  weak  like  the  reed  or  deceitful  like  the 
wind,  boldly  drive  them  from  your  mind.  Betrayed  hopes 
are  like  thorns  which  lacerate." 

"I  hope  because  I  believe,"  replied  Jacques. 

"You  are  eighteen!"  exclaimed  Monsieur  d'Assonville, 
and  a  flash  of  bitter  irony  passed  over  his  eyes.  Then, 
more  softly,  he  resumed : 

"Believe,  Jacques;  belief  is  the  perfume  of  life  and  the 
ornament  of  youth ;  woe  to  those  who  have  not  believed — 
they  have  not  loved;  they  die  without  having  lived." 

Monsieur  d'Assonville  pressed  both  of  Jacques'  hands; 
the  reflection  of  an  ill-extinguished  passion  illuminated  his 
face,  and  he  swallowed  his  glass  at  a  draught. 

"Of  what  am  I  thinking?"  he  presently  said;  "it  is  a 
question  of  love  and  not  of  philosophy.  Come,  Jacques, 
what  do  you  count  on  doing?" 

"I  have  told  you — to  go  to  Paris  and  seek  fortune,  unless 
you  consent  to  keep  me  with  you." 

"We  will  see  about  that  later,  and  I  shall  willingly  con- 
sent if  my  company  can  be  of  service  to  you.  But  suppose 
for  a  moment  that  you  have  arrived  at  Paris — what  will 
you  do  there?" 

"Frankly,  I  do  not  know;  I  shall  knock  at  every  door." 

"It  is  an  excellent  means  to  enter  none.  Have  you  some 
money?" 

"Yes,  fifty  livres  which  have  been  stolen  from  me,  and 
which  I  hope  to  recover  along  with  my  valise." 

"And  fifteen  louis  which  I  shall  give  you  as  your  part  of 
the  booty. ' ' 

"Eh?  but  that  makes " 


THE  SKIKMISH.  39 

"That  makes  fifteen  louis.  In  war,  as  in  love,  what  one 
loses  is  lost. ' ' 

"Ah!" 

"With  three  hundred  and  sixty  livres  you  have  just 
about  enough  to  beat  about  the  streets  of  Paris  for  two 
months,  after  which  you  will  have  the  resource  of  making 
a  lackey  of  yourself. ' ' 

"I  would  rather  throw  myself  into  the  river." 

"That  is  not  the  way  to  mairy  Mademoiselle  de  Malzon- 
villiers. " 

"True.     I  can  always  make  a  soldier  of  myself." 

"That  is  difficult.  In  the  trade  of  arms  you  have  twenty 
chances  to  get  your  head  cracked  and  one  to  win  epau- 
lettes." 

"Not  many,  to  be  sure." 

"But  at  Paris,  for  two  chances  to  make  a  fortune,  you 
have  twelve  to  die  of  hunger — unless  you  consent  to  prac- 
tice certain  trades  which  are  repugnant  to  honest  people." 

"The  'not  many'  of  just  now  is  reduced  to  none." 

"Ah !  my  friend,  you  have  undertaken  a  rough  job,  in 
which  courage  and  perseverance  can  only  win  in  case  acci- 
dent places  itself  on  their  side." 

"While  waiting  for  its  consent  to  do  so,  what  do  you 
advise  me?" 

"That  is  what  we  are  mutually  going  to  decide  upon. 
Empty  that  bottle  of  old  Burgundy.  Wine  brings  counsel ; 
it  shows  as  easy  the  most  extravagant  things,  and  those 
are  the  only  kind  which  are  worth  while  attempting. 
When  you  wish  to  become  a  captain,  you  must  think  of 
becoming  a  general. ' ' 

"General!"  exclaimed  Jacques,  thoroughly  astonished. 

"Certainly  if  I  was  foolish  enough  to  relish  love,  I 
would  risk  myself  with  princesses  of  the  blood." 

"Well,  for  a  beginning,  what  do  you  say  to  incorpor- 
ating me  in  the  light-horse?" 

"Eh!  the  uniform  is  pretty!  If  you  take  care  to  avoid 
the  grape-shot,  the  bullets,  the  balls,  the  grenades,  and 
other  mischievous  projectiles,  if  you  are  neither  killed 
nor  amputated,  if  you  always  conduct  yourself  valiantly, 
if  you  never  get  punished,  if  you  distinguish  yourself  by 
some  splendid  action,  and  if  luck  smiles  upon  you,  you  can 
count  upon  the  gold  lace  of  a  quarter-master  at  the  age  of 
forty-eight.  You  have  to  take  care  that  a  lieutenant  does 
not  take  it  into  his  head  to  look  at  you  askew  because  you 
failed  to  salute  him  properly,  in  which  case  you  would  run 
the  risk  of  remaining  a  brigadier  up  to  your  sixtieth  year. " 


40  THE  SKIEMISH. 

Jacques  let  fall  his  glass. 

"It  is  neither  you  nor  I  who  have  made  the  world  what 
it  is,  and  it  is  not  your  fault  if  your  father  was  not  at 
least  a  chevalier.  A  prudent  father,  in  the  times  in  which 
we  live,  ought  always  to  be  born  a  count  or  a  baron." 

"Monsieur,  I  go  to  Paris,"  exclaimed  Jacques,  fright- 
ened. 

"To  Paris!  eh!  eh!  it  is  an  amiable  city  for  rich  and 
handsome  young  men;  but  when  you  have  only  the  hand- 
some part,  it  is  well  enough  to  avoid  entering  the  cabaret. 
Gentlemen  leave  it  tipsy,  poor  devils  leave  it  plucked. 
Paris  is  a  place  where  pleasures  abound,  only  they  cost 
very  dear,  above  all  those  which  cost  nothing.  It  is  true 
that  when  one  is  a  handsome  fellow,  one  has  an  additional 
chance.  My  faith,  yes !  Why  the  devil  did  I  not  think  of 
it?  One  might  please  some  dowager  who  places  you  then 
in  her  affections  just  between  her  spaniel  and  her  con- 
fessor; in  the  morning  you  leave  her  apartment  through 
the  secret  door.  At  the  end  of  a  month  you  are  a  boarder 
at  the  house  in  quality  of  secretary ;  you  have  a  florid 
complexion,  a  vermilion  mouth,  and  have  the  whole  day 
to  repose  yoxirself. " 

Jacques  made  a  gesture  of  disgust. 

"No!  then  there  remains  to  us  the  hope  of  becoming  an 
intendant.  Good  trade!  Do  you  know  how  to  steal, 
Jacques?" 

Jacques  grew  pale  and  stood  up. 

"Monsieur!"  said  he,  in  a  voice  strangled  by  emotion. 

Monsieur  d'Assonville  looked  at  him  without  a  muscle 
of  his  face  trembling.  Jacques  ran  his  hands  through  the 
long  curls  of  his  blonde  hair.  A  deep  sigh  came  from  his 
breast,  and  he  sat  down  again. 

"Pardon  me,  Monsieur  le  Comte, "  he  said ;  "I  did  not 
expect  this  outrage  from  you  who  have  slept  in  my 
father's  arms!  You  have  undoubtedly  wished  to  punish 
me  for  having  so  promptly  forgotten  the  distance  which 
exists  between  us,  but  you  have  done  it  maliciously,  Mon- 
sieur le  Comte.  You  have  no  desire  to  come  to  my  aid,  I 
can  well  see.  I  will  take  counsel,  then,  of  circumstances ; 
but,  whatever  may  come  to  pass  and  in  whatever  situation 
I  find  myself,  believe  me,  never  shall  I  forget  that  I  have, 
for  judging  me,  my  God  up  yonder  and  my  father  here 
below." 

"You  are  an  honest  and  loyal  fellow,  friend  Jacques, 
and  I  am  proud  to  press  your  hand, ' '  replied  Monsieur 
d'Assonville.  "I  have  wished  to  prove  you,  and  now  that 


THE  INTEEIOK  OF  A  BAEKACK.  41 

I  know  your  soul  is  as  firm  as  your  arm  is  strong,  I  will 
speak  to  you  like  a  man.  You  have  nothing  to  gain  in  the 
light-horse.  Were  you  the  best-informed,  the  boldest,  and 
the  most  intelligent  soldier  in  the  company,  the  slenderest 
younger  son  sent  from  Paris  by  the  court  would  pass  over 
you.  Neither  would  you  gain  anything  at  Paris.  With  a 
conscience  tempered  like  steel,  one  never  arrives  at  any- 
thing— unless  to  be  duke  and  peer  at  the  most.  Kemain  a 
soldier — soldiers  can  preserve  their  honor  pure — but 
enter  the  artillery.  There  alone  a  man  who  has  valor, 
deportment,  and  some  knowledge  can  push  himself,  even 
though  he  is  not  a  gentleman.  You  have  youth  and  a  turn 
which  is  worth  something.  God  will  do  the  rest;  there 
are  a  thousand  accidents  between  you  and  the  object,  but 
Suzanne  is  at  the  end  of  the  road !  I  have  a  brother  who 
commands  a  company  of  sappers  at  Laon.  I  will  give  you 
a  letter  to  him.  He  is  my  exact  counterpart.  Guillaume 
Grinedal's  son  will  not  leave  the  family." 

Jacques  took  Monsieur  d'Assonville's  hands  and  kissed 
them  without  being  able  to  speak.  The  next  day,  carrying 
in  a  purs 9  the  fifteen  gold  louis  which  the  captain  had 
given  him,  and  mounted  upon  a  good  and  well-equipped 
horse,  he  left  the  abbey. 

"Here  is  the  letter,"  Monsieur  d'Assonville  said  to  him; 
"if  you  experience  some  regret  to  quit  me,  I  experience  as 
much  to  lose  you,  but  it  is  necessary  for  you  to  arrive  at 
Malzonvilliers,  and  the  shortest  way  passes  through  Laon. 
Go  then  to  Laon.  If  ever  you  have  need  of  me,  you  will 
find  me.  Adieu,  my  friend. " 

Jacques  pressed  the  captain's  hand  and  set  spurs  to  his 
horse  so  as  not  to  let  him  see  that  his  eyes  were  filled  with 
tears.  He  already  had  the  pride  of  a  soldier. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  INTERIOR  OF  A  BARRACK. 

Jacques  arrived  without  hindrance  at  Laon.  The  first 
soldier  whom  he  met  pointed  out  to  him  the  dwelling  of 
Monsieur  de  Naucrais.  No  sooner  than  the  captain  recog- 
nized his  brother's  handwriting  he  gave  orders  to  have 
the  traveler  introduced.  Monsieur  de  Naucrais  was  a  large 
man,  severe  and  nervous ;  his  gray  eyes,  shaded  by  thick, 
brown  lashes,  separated  at  their  meeting  point  by  a  deep 


42          THE  INTERIOR  OF  A  BARRACK. 

wrinkle,  shown  with  an  extraordinary  fire ;  a  long  tawny 
mustache  divided  his  face  made  thin  by  the  fatkcues  of 
war;  he  had,  while  speaking,  the  habit  of  twisting  its 
sharp  points  between  his  fingers,  without  taking  his  eyes 
off  the  person  whom  he  was  questioning.  This  look,  clear 
and  keen  as  a  steel  point,  seemed  to  penetrate  to  the  in- 
most depth  of  consciences,  and  the  most  hardened  felt 
themselves  troubled  by  its  fixity.  Monsieur  de  Naucrais 
was  two  or  three  years  younger  than  his  brother  and  ap- 
peared to  be  three  or  four  years  older.  The  habit  of  com- 
mand, and  above  all,  his  naturally  imperious  character, 
gave  to  his  whole  person  an  air  of  authority  which  over- 
awed at  the  first  glance.  .  It  was  necessary  to  stop  at  the 
features  of  the  face  to  find  some  resemblance  between  the 
two  brothers.  There  was  none  in  the  physiognomy.  Mon- 
sieur de  Naucrais  was  holding  Monsieur  d'Assonville's  let- 
ter in  his  hand  when  Jacques  entered.  He  silently  consid- 
ered him  for  two  or  three  minutes. 

'You  come  from  St.  Pal?"  the  captain  finally  said. 

'I  left  there  a  quarter  of  an  hour  ago." 

'From  what  my  brother  remarks,  you  intend  to  make  a 
so  dier  of  yourself. ' ' 

'Yes,  captain." 

'It  is  a  trade  in  which  there  is  more  lead  than  money 
to  gain." 

"It  is  also  the  most  honorable  for  a  man  of  courage  who 
•wishes  to  push  himself  in  the  world." 

"That  concerns  you;  but  I  must  warn  you  that  in  the 
artillery,  and  in  my  company,  above  all,  one  is  a  slave  to 
discipline.  At  the  first  fault  the  awkward  soldier  is 
placed  in  the  dungeon,  at  the  second  he  is  flogged  by  the 
line,  at  the  third  he  is  shot. " 

"I  shall  endeavor  not  to  go  to  the  dungeon,  in  order  to 
be  always  far  from  the  musket. ' ' 

"That  is  your  affair.  You  know  the  regime  of  my  com- 
pany— does  it  still  please  you  to  enter  it?" 

"Yes,  captain." 

"Monsieur  d'Assonville  speaks  to  me  of  you  as  a  deter- 
mined fellow.  You  have  seen  fire,  he  says,  and  have  con- 
ducted yourself  well  under  it." 

"I  have  done  my  duty." 

"That  is  well.  Starting  from  to-day,  you  are  a  soldier  in 
my  company ;  recollect  to  always  follow  the  straight  line, 
and  do  not  oblige  me  to  punish  you ;  I  would  do  it  piti- 
lessly, so  much  the  more  that  being  recommended  to  me 
by  my  brother,  I  wish  you  to  be  worthy  of  my  protection. 


THE  INTEKIOli  OF  A  BAKEACK.  43 

Your  father's  name  engages  me  besides  to  redouble  my 
severity  as  regards  you ;  I  intend  to  prove  to  him  that  you 
deserve  to  be  his  son." 

Jacques  prepared  to  reply;  Monsieur  de  Naucrais 
stopped  him  with  a  gesture. 

"Your  name  is  Jacques,"  he  continued. 

"Yes,  captain." 

"It  is  a  common  name;  we  do  not  need  it  in  the  regi- 
ment. You  will  call  yourself " 

"As  you  wish." 

"Parbleu!  that  is  the  way  I  understand  it!  All  sol- 
diers have  names." 

"Yes,  names  which  do  not  belong  to  them?" 

"But  that  is  the  case  with  mine!  Do  you  believe,  per- 
chance, that  I  need  their  consent  to  baptize  them?" 

"Is  that  also  a  part  of  the  discipline'?'  asked  Jacques, 
blushing. 

"Yes,  my  boy,"  replied  Monsieur  de  Naucrais,  who 
could  not  refrain  from  smiling.  "But,  mon  Dieu,  I  have 
your  name;  it  is  written  upon  your  face." 

"Ah!  Therefore  I  am  to  call  myself " 

"Belle-Eose." 

Monsieur  de  Naucrais  rang  his  bell ;  a  soldier  entered, 
the  captain  whispered  a  few  words  to  him,  the  soldier 
went  out  and  returned  five  minutes  after  with  a  corporal 
of  sappers. 

"Monsieur  Deroute,"  said  Monsieur  de  Naucrais  to 
the  non-commissioned  officer,  "here  is  a  recruit  whom  I 
confide  to  you ;  you  will  take  him  to  the  mess,  instruct 
him  in  the  profession,  and  render  me  an  account  of  his 
conduct.  Go." 

In  spite  of  his  formidable  name,  Corporal  Deroute  was 
an  excellent  man  who  asked  nothing  better  than  to  be  of 
service  to  some  one.  When  both  of  them  were  in  the 
street,  the  corporal  and  the  recruit,  Deroute  turned  to 
our  friend  Jacques,  now  called  Belle-Rose. 

"It  appears  that  you  have  been  warmly  recommended 
to  the  captain, "  he  said  to  him ;  "he  has  never  spoken  so 
long  apropos  of  a  soldier." 

"So  long?  a  dozen  words " 

"Eh!  that  is  just  three  times  as  many  as  he  is  accus- 
tomed to  pronounce.  When  a  recruit  reaches  the  company, 
Monsieur  de  Naucrais  questions  him,  then  he  sends  for  a 
corporal,  and  pointing  the  man  out  to  him,  says  to  him : 
'Here  is  a  soldier,  enter  him,'  and  be  turns  his  back.  Oh! 
the  captain  is  a  terrible  man, ' ' 


44  THE  INTERIOR  OF  A  BARRACK. 

"Bah!"  said  Belle-Rose,  "I  have  seen  him  smile," 

"He  has  smiled?" 

"Like  every  one  else!  Does  this  never  happen  to  him, 
then?" 

"Yes,  sometimes,  but  not  often.  I,  who  am  an  old  mem- 
ber of  the  company,  know  that  he  has  a  better  heart  than 
countenance,  but  he  has  for  recruits  a  devil  of  an  air 
which  frightens  the  most  headstrong.  If  he  wishes  you 
well,  you  will  soon  arrive  at  the  epaulettes. ' ' 

"Advancement  then  is  rapid  among  you?" 

"That  depends.  Where  the  sieges  kill  a  great  many  offi- 
cers, it  is  necessary  to  replace  them ;  then  choice  is  made 
among  the  younger  artillerymen  or  among  the  most  skill- 
ful and  valiant  soldiers. ' ' 

"So  that,  to  win  epaulettes,  it  is  necessary  for  the  enemy 
to  scatter  bullets  among  us." 

"Which  they  do  not  fail  to  do." 

"Those  kind  Spaniards!" 

"Oh!  our  commander  owes  his  grade  to  them.  Therefore 
he  has  sworn  to  burn  a  taper  in  their  honor  in  the  very 
middle  of  Namur.  Monsieur  Delorme,  who  is  at  the  head 
of  the  battalion,  entered  as  a  sapper  like  yourself.  He 
has  seen  ten  captains  and  three  commanders  pass  over  the 
river — three  or  four  bullets  and  half  a  dozen  grenades  did 
the  work." 

"Faith,  the  sapper's  trade  is  an  excellent  one." 

"Very  fine  indeed.  Only  for  one  officer  who  loses  a  leg 
thirty  soldiers  lose  their  heads. ' ' 

"Ah!" 

"It  is  a  calculation  which  I  have  amused  myself  with 
figuring  out  during  my  leisure  hours.  You  can  see  it 
demonstrated  at  our  first  encounter. " 

Belle-Rose  said  nothing  and  scratched  his  ear ;  at  the  end 
of  the  street  he  turned  to  the  corporal. 

"Monsieur  Deroute,"  said  he,  "do  you  permit  me  to 
address  you  a  question?" 

"Two  if  you  wish." 

"You  have  told  me,  I  believe,  that  in  the  artillery  one 
advances  or  one  dies." 

"Yes,  comrade;  the  grape-shot  serves  as  an  aid  to  pro- 
motion." 

"How  long  have  you  been  in  the  service?" 

"Eighteen  years." 

"The  deuce  you  say!' 

"That  is  an  explanation  which  proves  to  me  that  your 
mind  has  just  delivered  itself  to  an  arithmetical  operation. 


THE  INTERIOR  OP  A  BARRACK.  45 

If  it  has  taken  the  sapper  Deroute  eighteen  years  to  be- 
come a  corporal,  how  long  will  it  take  the  sapper  Belle- 
Rose  to  become  a  captain?  That  is  what  we  call  a  rule  of 
three.  Have  I  guessed  it?" 

"To  a  nicety." 

"Here  the  rule  of  three  is  wrong.  Perhaps  it  will  only 
take  you  three  months  to  mount  to  the  grade  of  sergeant. 
As  to  myself,  I  shall  die  a  corporal.  There  is  a  particular 
reason  for  it.  I  have  been  a  groom ;  now  one  of  our  young 
officers,  Monsieur  de  Villebrais,  who  had  seen  me  wearing 
the  livery,  has  recognized  me.  They  do  not  make  an  offi- 
cer of  a  groom.  If,  thanks  to  the  protection  of  Monsieur 
de  Naucrais,  I  become  a  halberdier,  that  is  as  far  as  1  shall 
get." 

Deroute  made  this  avowal  with  a  simple  and  resigned 
air  which  touched  Belle-Rose.  The  soldier  took  the  cor- 
poral's hand  and  pressed  it;  then  both  arrived  at  the  bar- 
rack. A  uniform,  a  gun,  a  saber,  a  poniard,  and  a  pair  of 
pistols  were  given  to  the  new-comer,  and  Belle-Rose,  thor- 
oughly equipped,  mounted  guard  for  the  first  time.  The 
following  day  he  was  taught  how  to  handle  arms.  At  the 
end  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour  the  corporal  perceived  that  in 
this  respect  the  recruit  was  able  to  give  lessons  to  the  pro- 
fessor. On  the  day  following  the  next  he  was  placed  in  the 
first  elements  of  calculation.  Belle-Rose  leaped  over  the 
four  rules  and  suddenly  reached  regions  where  each  figure 
was  a  letter.  He  answered  problems  by  means  of  equa- 
tions. The  following  day  the  corporal  placed  a  piece  of 
chalk  between  his  fingers.  While  he  was  teaching  him  the 
principles  of  linear  drawing,  striving  to  demonstrate  to 
him  the  difference  which  separates  a  parallelogram  from 
a  trapezium,  Belle-Rose  was  scribbling  on  a  slip  of  paper 
on  the  corner  of  the  table.  When  the  demonstration  was 
finished,  so  was  the  scribbling,  and  the  corporal  laughed 
heartily  on  recognizing  the  locks  of  his  black  hair  glued 
flat  to  his  temples,  and  his  pug  nose  between  two  eyes 
planted  in  Chinese  fashion. 

"Ah!  you  are  a  prince's  son!"  exclaimed  the  corporal 
throwing  down  his  chalk. 

"I  have  always  held  my  mother  for  a  very  honest  wo- 
man, and  my  father  was  a  falconer  " 

The  poor  Deroute  had  studied  under  the  sergeant  pro- 
fessor, and  as  the  opportunity  presented  itself;  but 
Deroute  only  knew  what  it  was  necessary  for  a  corporal  of 
sappers  to  know.  When  Deroute  was  embarrassed,  he  be- 
gan by  reflecting,  but  when  the  embarrassment  was  ex- 


46  THE   INTERIOR  OF  A  BARRACK. 

treme,  ho  wound  up  by  going  to  his  captain.  On  this  occa- 
sion he  went  straight  to  Monsieur  de  Naucrais  without 
even  reflecting.  The  case  was  grave. 

"Captain,  you  have  placed  an  engineer  in  the  mess,"  he 
said  to  him;  "you  have  charged  me  with  instructing  Belle- 
Rose,  and  it  is  Belle-Rose  who  instructs  his  corporal. 
What  must  I  do?" 

"Send  Belle-Rose  to  me." 

After  a  short  conversation,  Monsieur  de  Naucrais  en- 
gaged his  brother's  protege  to  continue  his  studies  in 
mathematics,  and  to  join  to  them  the  study  of  languages. 

"We  are  all  more  or  less  engineers  or  cannoneers,"  he 
said  to  him;  "when  you  know  thoroughly  trigonometry 
and  Spanish,  you  will  not  be  far  from  the  epaulettes.  You 
will  begin  the  lessons  to-morrow." 

Belle-Rose  often  studied  the  theory  of  the  square  of  the 
hypothenuse  and  took  upon  paper  a  bastion  defended  by  a 
telescope.  Sometimes  Suzanne's  image  came  to  confuse 
the  angles,  and  the  recollection  of  the  promenades  in  the 
garden  caused  a  sunken  road  to  miss  its  effect;  but  Belle- 
Rose  took  up  again  the  calculation  and  the  siege,  saying 
to  himself  that  each  figure  and  each  assault  drew  him  so 
much  nearer  his  sweetheart.  One  fine  day,  toward  noon, 
as  he  was  leaving  his  room,  mixing  together  in  his  mind 
love  and  mathematics,  a  soldier  ran  up  against  him  on  the 
stair-way. 

"Devil  take  the  awkward  fellow!"  exclaimed  the  sol- 
dier. 

"It  seems  to  me  that  it  is  you  who  have  jostled  me," 
said  Belle-Rose.  "I  was  passing  to  the  right,  you  were 
mounting  on  the  left,  and  you  have  run  against  me.  Who 
is  the  awkward  one,  if  you  please?" 

'"Ponmyword!  I  believe  he  reasons !  Do  you  mean  to 
contradict  me,  young  fellow?" 

"In  truth,  I  was  wrong — I  should  not  have  said  awk- 
ward, but  insolent. " 

The  soldier  raised  his  hand,  but  Belle-Rose  seized  it  in 
the  air,  and  grabbing  his  adversary  by  the  throat,  he 
hurled  him  rudely  down  the  stair-way.  At  the  noise  of 
this  struggle,  some  sappers  ran  up,  and  seeing  what  was 
passing,  rushed  to  the  combatants  in  order  to  separate 
them.  It  was  time ;  Belle-Rose  had  placed  one  knee  upon 
the  breast  of  the  soldier,  who  was  breathing  hard. 

"You  shall  follow  me;  a  man  who  has  such  a  strong 
hand  ought  to  know  how  to  hold  a  sword,"  said  the  sol- 
dier, after  he  had  risen. 


THE  INTERIOR  OF  A  BARRACK.  47 

For  sole  reply,  Belle-Rose  made  him  a  sign  to  go  ahead. 
They  noiselessly  left  the  city  and  stopped  in  the  country 
behind  an  old  cemetery  where  no  one  passed.  The  adver- 
saries threw  aside  their  coats,  and  drawing  their  swords, 
began  to  fence.  The  soldier,  who  was  a  cannoneer  named 
Bouletord,  pushed  Belle- Rose  with  so  much  fury  that  the 
latter  was  forced  to  break  twice. 

"Oh!  oh!"  exclaimed  his  enemy,  "it  appears  that  what 
you  have  retained  best  of  your  studies  is  the  art  of  re- 
treat." 

Belle  Rose  made  no  reply  and  continued  to  parry.  He 
attempted — not  being  angry  just  now — to  disarm  Boule- 
tord ;  but  the  cannoneer  was  too  skilful  to  permit  him  to 
do  it.  In  breaking  a  third  time,  Belle-Rose  stumbled 
against  a  stone.  Bouletord  profited  by  the  accident  to 
make  a  thrust  which  would  have  pierced  him  through  and 
through,  if  the  sapper,  returning  quickly  to  parade,  had 
not  turned  it  aside.  The  sword  glided  along  his  body  and 
tore  his  shirt,  which  was  stained  by  some  drops  of  blood. 
Peril  returned  to  Belle-Rose  some  of  his  anger;  in  his 
turn  he  began  to  press  Bouletord,  who  broke,  but  not 
quickly  enough  to  avoid  a  thrust  in  the  fleshy  part  of  the 
arm.  Belle-Rose  kept  on  advancing;  a  second  thrust 
wounded  the  cannoneer  in  the  shoulder;  he  wished  to 
parry,  but  a  third  time  the  sword  of  the  sapper  wounded 
his  adversary  and  penetrated  his  breast.  Bouletord  tot- 
tered and  fell  upon  his  knees. 

"I  am  done  for,  comrade,"  said  he;  and  he  fainted. 

Belle-Rose,  having  returned  to  the  barrack,  related  to 
Deroute  what  had  taken  place. 

"It  is  unpleasant,"  the  corporal  said  to  him,  "but  it  was 
inevitable." 

Belle-Rose  looked  him  in  the  face. 

"Oh!"  continued  the  corporal,  "it  is  a  part  of  the  regi- 
mental manners !  They  ha  ye  wished  to  sound  you.  Boule- 
tord is  a  sounder.  When  a  recruit  enters  the  corps,  a  sol- 
dier provokes  him ;  anything  serves  for  a  pretext  under 
such  circumstances ;  he  gives  or  receives  a  sword  thrust 
on  account  of  it.  If  the  recruit  fights  well,  he  has  nothing 
more  to  fear,  let  him  be  victor  or  vanquished ;  but  if  he  is 
afraid,  he  is  lost.  You  have  been  made  to  pass  through  the 
baptism  of  steel. ' ' 

"The  duel  is  nevertheless  forbidden." 

"That  is  an  excellent  reason  for  its  being  fought  all  the 
more." 

"But  what  is  the  result  of  it?" 


48  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

"Nothing.  Soldiers  fight  and  the  officers  close  their 
eyes." 

"Therefore  I  have  nothing  to  do." 

"You  have  only  to  keep  silence.  Bouletord  will  be  car- 
ried to  the  hospital  and  will  say  nothing;  your  two  wit- 
nesses will  be  mute  as  carps;  it  is  the  soldier's  religion. 
Perform  your  duties  as  if  you  were  not  concerned  in  the 
affair,  and  if  Monsieur  de  Naucrais  learns  all  about  it,  be 
sure  that  he  will  pretend  to  know  nothing." 

''But  the  surgeon  will  visit  Bouletord?" 

"The  surgeon  will  say  that  Bouletord  has  the  fever;  if 
he  gets  well,  it  will  be  said  that  the  fever  has  left  him." 

"And  if  he  dies?" 

"He  will  be  dead  of  the  fever." 

Belle-Eose  laughed. 

"I  do  not  laugh, "  continued  the  corporal;  "I  have  al- 
ready seen  die  in  that  fashion  half  a  dozen  sappers,  and 
some  of  the  malignant  fever,  others  of  the  red  fever.  The 
red  fever  is  a  saber  cut,  the  malignant  fever  is  a  sword 
thrust;  it  is  the  most  dangerous.  Fever  is  the  soldier's 
providence.  Go  to  bed." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

LOST    ILLUSIONS. 

Everything  passed  off  as  Deroute  predicted  it  would. 
Bouletord  entered  the  hospital ;  the  surgeon  visited  him 
and  declared  that  he  was  sick  of  an  intermittent  fever. 
Monsieur  de  Naucrais  feigned  to  believe  what  the  surgeon 
had  said,  but  meeting  Belle-Rose  alone  one  day  upon  the 
rampart,  he  brusquely  said  to  him : 

"I  have  been  told  that  you  recently  came  near  contract- 
ing the  fever.  Take  care,  I  do  not  like  it  to  be  given  or  re- 
ceived. I  can,  however,  look  over  it  for  once." 

"It  has  stopped,"  boldly  replied  Belle-Rose,  "the  attack 
has  passed  away." 

Monsieur  de  Naucrais  smiled.  Bouletord  got  well,  and 
nothing  more  was  said  about  it.  Some  months  passed, 
then  a  year,  then  two,  then  three;  Belle-Rose  wrote  fre- 
quently to  St.  Omer;  in  the  replies  which  he  received  from 
there  there  was  always  some  souvenir  from  Suzanne,  a 
word,  a  flower  of  the  new  season,  something  which  came 
from  the  heart  and  went  to  the  heart.  Already  the  fal- 
coner's son  had  passed  beyond  Deroute;  Monsieur  de 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  49 

Naucrais,  who  loved  him  in  his  way,  was  only  waiting, 
he  said,  for  an  occasion  to  let  him  get  wounded  in  the  ser- 
vice of  the  king  in  order  to  ask  the  epaulettes  for  him. 
Belle-Rose  prayed  for  a  battle;  but  the  Spaniards  remained 
upon  the  frontier,  peaceably  ensconced  in  their  quarters. 
After  the  generals  the  turn  of  the  ambassadors  had  come. 
Instead  of  making  war,  they  were  carrying  on  negotia- 
tions. Louis  XIV.  had  married. 

Peace  did  not  suit  Belle-Rose ;  therefore  he  was  much 
vexed.  When  Monsieur  de  Naucrais,  the  morning  after  the 
report  was  read,  saw  Belle-Rose  care-worn,  he  asked  him 
if  the  news  was  warlike. 

"No,"  replied  the  sergeant;  "it  would  be  well-timed  to 
give  distaffs  to  the  soldiers — at  least,  they  would  be  good 
for  something." 

"Here  is  a  droll  fellow  who,  in  order  to  light  more 
quickly  the  nuptial  torch,  would  willingly  set  fire  to  the 
four  corners  of  Europe, "  Monsieur  de  Naucrais  gayly  re- 
sponded. 

But  as  soon  as  the  sergeant  became  too  gloomy,  the  cap- 
tain confided  to  him  the  command  of  small  detachments 
which  were  sent  to  serve  in  the  fortifications  at  Bethune, 
Peronne,  Amiens,  St.  Pal,  and  other  towns  in  Picardy  and 
Artois. 

In  the  meantime  Belle-Rose  received  a  letter  whose  su- 
perscription made  his  heart  beat ;  he  had  just  recognized 
Suzanne's  handwriting.  It  was  the  first  time  that  she  had 
written  to  him  directly.  There  is  in  the  first  letter  of  the 
first  woman  you  love  an  infinite  sweetness  which  suffuses 
the  eyes  with  divine  tears.  It  brings  an  indefinable  emo- 
tion which  nothing  can  ever  afterward  replace ;  the  fingers 
caress  the  paper,  the  lips  touch  it  softly ;  there  escapes 
from  it  a  perfume  which  the  soul  inhales,  and  it  is  an  en- 
chantment whose  recollection  again  makes  warm  the  heart 
of  the  saddest  old  men.  Belle-Rose  kissed  this  letter  a 
thousand  times  before  breaking  the  seal,  then  he  ran  into 
the  country  in  order  to  give  to  his  confused  but  delightful 
sensations  the  silence  which  permits  them  to  be  enjoyed. 
When  he  had  concealed  himself  in  the  shade  of  the  lin- 
dens, far  from  the  dusty  paths  along  which  rises  the  noise 
of  cities,  he  tore  open  the  envelope  and  read  what  follows : 

"When  you  left  St.  Omer,  my  friend,  you  were  eighteen  and  I  fif- 
teen ;  more  than  three  years  have  rolled  away  since  that  time,  and  not 
a  single  day  has  passed  without  my  thinking  of  you.  The  memory  of 
you  dwells  in  my  heart  as  I  live  in  yours  ;  each  time  that  your  letters 
announce  your  progress  and  your  advancement,  I  have  rejoiced.  1 


50  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

felt  happy  at  your  success,  and  proud  to  have  placed  my  affections  on 
one  who  deserved  them.  In  solitude  my  mind  has  matured,  my  friend. 
The  future  which  we  have  dreamed  of  together,  and  which  we  have 
promised  one  another  to  reach,  is  still  sweet  to  me,  and  it  is  toward 
it  that  my  illusions  turn  when  I  wish  to  taste  an  hour  of  tranquil  hap- 
piness. Hope  lulls  ray  heart  as  a  mother  does  her  child.  Claudiue, 
my  friend,  the  confidante  of  my  dreams,  often  animates  them  with  her 
joyous  words,  and  gives  them  all  the  deceitful  hopes  of  reality.  The 
dawn  finds  us  oftentimes  talking  in  low  tones  along  the  hedges  where 
the  birds  chatter;  many  times  the  twilight  surprises  us  still  in  the  mead- 
ows, walking  with  clasped  hands,  and  together  we  watch  the  golden 
bands  extinguished,  and  gaze  at  the  last  smile  of  the  sun  which  lights 
up  the  tops  of  the  poplars.  She  has  your  name  upon  her  lips  and 
embraces  me  ;  it  is  in  my  heart,  and  I  am  silent.  As  to  my  father,  he 
takes  up  his  time  in  informing  himself  about  the  price  of  securities  so 
as  to  increase  his  fortune,  which  I  find  too  large  already.  He  assures 
me  that  it  is  for  my  happiness,  and  I  cannot  make  him  hear  reason  on 
the  subject.  He  purchases  hay  one  day,  and  wheat  the  next — then  he 
sells  the  whole  at  a  large  profit.  It  is  for  my  dowry,  he  tells  me.  It 
is  a  strange  thing  ;  the  persons  who  are  most  attached  to  us  act  ac- 
cording to  their  fancy  when  they  believe  they  act  for  our  good,  and  work 
to  satisfy  their  own  taste  when  they  pretend  to  work  for  our  happi- 
ness. I  should  like  to  lengthen  this  letter  in  order  to  delay  the  mo- 
ment when  I  must  talk  to  you  about  the  affair  which  touches  both  of 
us  most  closely.  But  what  good  would  result  from  it  ?  Will  it  not 
always  be  necessary  for  me  to  force  my  mind  to  instruct  you  about  it  ? 
Honesty  requires  it.  When  you  shall  have  read  this  letter  to  the  end, 
you  will  weep  over  me,  over  yourself,  but  you  will  pardon  me.  My 
will  has  submitted  to  the  evil,  it  has  not  brought  it  about.  You  know 
my  father's  reply  to  your  proposition  ;  since  that  day  he  has  never 
conversed  with  me  about  your  love  and  your  hopes  ;  only,  when  the 
progress  which  you  were  making  in  the  esteem  of  your  chiefs  was  spo- 
ken of,  he  said  that  he  was  not  astonished  at  it  and  that  you  were  ca- 
pable of  succeeding  in  anything.  At  these  times  I  felt  an  extraordi- 
nary desire  to  embrace  him.  Some  time  ago,  M.  de  Malzonvilliers,  on 
returning  from  a  journey  which  he  had  made  to  Calais,  introduced  me 
to  a  young  gentleman  of  good  appearance.  A  secret  instinct— an  in- 
stinct of  the  heart  no  doubt — told  me  that  this  young  seigneur  did  not 
come  to  Malzonvilliers  on  commercial  affairs,  and  I  felt  my  heart  con- 
tract. This  young  nobleman  had  a  very  keen  wit,  and  altogether  the 
air  of  a  man  of  good  family;  but  you  could  see  that  he  spoke  before 
reflecting,  and  that  above  all  he  was  occupied  with  pleasure  and  frivo- 
lous things.  He  remained  eight  or  ten  days  at  the  chateau,  during 
which  it  was  impossible  for  me  to  go  out  walking  with  Claudine,  un- 
less I  went  in  the  morning  very  early,  or  in  the  evening  while  the 
stranger  was  paying  a  visit  to  the  nobility  of  St.  Omer.  At  the  end  of 
this  time  the  gentleman  went  away  :  I  scarcely  had  time  to  breathe 
when  a  grave  seigneur  replaced  him  at  the  chateau.  The  latter  was  as 
sedentary  as  the  other  was  active  ;  he  had  a  kind  disposition,  and 
though  suffering  from  old  wounds,  a  noble  and  easy  carriage.  His 
discourse  was  playful,  but  always  honest — his  manners  polite,  and  you 
felt  attracted  by  the  expression  of  his  physiognomy,  while  at  the  same 
time  you  were  seized  with  respect  at  the  sight  of  his  gray  mustache 
and  some  scars  which  furrowed  his  bald  forehead.  This  seigneur  was 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  51 

named  M.  d'Albergotti.  He  was  a  marquis,  belonged  to  a  family  of 
Italian  origin  which  had  held  a  considerable  rank  in  Milan,  and  wore 
the  cordon  of  St.  Louis.  M.  d'Albergotti  had  traveled  much  ;  his  con- 
versation was  interesting,  his  kindness  touched  me,  and  I  experienced 
some  sorrow  when  he  quitted  Malzonvilliers  to  go  to  Compiegne, 
where  M.  de  Tureune  had  summoned  him.  He  had  only  left  the  even- 
ing before,  when  my  father,  taking  me  by  the  arm,  drew  me  into  the 
garden.  You  know  that  siich  is  not  his  habit ;  as  soon  as  he  has  an 
hour  to  spare,  he  shuts  himself  up  in  his  room,  and  immediately  one 
or  two  sheets  of  paper  are  covered  with  figures.  Therefore  I  looked 
at  him  in  astonishment ;  he  began  to  laugh. 

"  'Oh  !'  he  said  to  me,  '  I  have  serious  things  to  speak  to  you 
about.' 

"This  prelude  increased  my  surprise,  and  without  knowing  why,  I 
was  afraid. 

"  'I  have  thought  of  marrying  you  to  some  one,'  continued  my 
father  ;  'you  have  just  seen  your  two  suitors.' 

"  'The  Comte  de  Pomereux  and  M.  d'Albergotti !'  I  exclaimed  more 
dead  than  alive. 

"  'You  are  right,  my  child.' 

"I  believe  that  if  my  father  had  not  sustained  me,  I  should  have 
fallen. 

"  'You  are  a  little  fool,'  he  continued,  making  me  sit  down  upon  a 
bench.  'Has  marriage  then  something  frightful  for  you  ?  I  do  not 
pretend,  besides,  to  dictate  your  choice.  You  will  choose  between  the 
count  and  the  marquis." 

"I  was  thunderstruck  and  knew  not  what  to  reply.  Some  tears 
gushed  from  my  eyes,  and  I  concealed  my  head  between  my  hands. 
My  father  tapped  the  ground  with  the  end  of  his  cane. 

"  'Come,  my  daughter,  be  reasonable,'  he  resumed  ;  'I  love  Jacques  a 
great  deal,  and  I  am  ready  to  prove  it  to  him  ;  but,  in  conscience,  yon 
cannot  marry  him.' 

"I  will  not  repeat  to  you  all  he  said  to  bring  me  to  his  opinion;  I 
heard  nothing  and  saw  nothing  but  you,  who  seemed  to  be  standing 
in  front  of  me. 

"  'Lastly,'  he  added  in  conclusion,  'you  will  be  a  marquise  or  a 
countess,  and  that  is  a  consolation.' 

"  'I  promised  to  wait  for  him  !'  I  exclaimed,  suffocated  by  tears. 

"  'Eh  !  here  is  another  folly  !'  replied  my  father,  and  thereupon  he 
said  to  me  many  things  which  I  did  not  comprehend  at  the  time,  but 
which  have  since  returned  to  my  memory,  and  which  I  will  not  relate 
to  you  at  length.  He  spoke  of  our  fortune  and  of  the  happiness  1 
would  enjoy  in  being  rich  and  titled  ;  all  this  was  said  without  malice 
and  in  the  best  faith  in  the  world.  When  M.  de  Malzonvilliers  left 
me  I  was  like  one  stupefied.  At  the  end  of  an  hour  my  troubled  spirit 
had  grown  calm,  and  I  promised  myself  to  never  marry  any  one  but 
you.  Toward  evening,  thoroughly  resolved  to  follow  my  project,  I 
went  to  your  house  to  relate  to  Claudine  what  had  taken  place.  It  was 
your  father  who  received  me.  What  came  over  me,  my  friend,  when 
I  heard  him  exhort  me  to  forget  you  !  I  resisted  ;  then,  taking  my 
hands  in  his,  and  bowing  his  forehead  loaded  with  white  hair  before 
mine,  he  implored  me  to  obey  M.  de  Malzonvilliers;  in  the  name  of  his 
own  honor  and  also  in  the  name  of  yours,  Jacques  !  He  did  not  wish 
the  accusation  to  be  brought  against  him  of  having  tolerated  our  mu- 


62  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

tual  affection,  nor  did  lie  wish  it  supposed  that  you  had  been  guilty  of 
having  abused  my  father's  confidence  in  the  hope  of  marrying  me  in 
order  to  increase  your  fortune.  He  assured  me  that  never  would  he  con- 
sent to  the  union  of  his  son  with  a  person  who  would  choose  him 
against  the  will  of  her  family.  I  have  seen  this  old  man  weep,  my 
friend,  and  I  have  gone  away  thoroughly  upset.  In  my  loneliness  I 
have  thrown  myself  at  the  feet  of  an  old  priest,  my  confessor.  He  has 
listened  to  me  with  pious  charity.  'Raise  your  soul  to  God, 'he  has 
said  to  me,  '  and  make  him  an  offering  of  your  grief;  children  owe 
obedience  to  their  parents.' 

"For  one  moment  I  thought  of  taking  the  vail  ;  but  I  understood 
that  if  I  gave  myself  to  God,  I  was  lost  to  you.  Just  at  the  moment  I 
was  most  worried  your  sister  came  to  me.  She  was  no  longer  the 
laughing  and  frolicsome  girl  whom  you  have  known,  Her  e3~es  were 
red  with  weeping.  '  Suzanne,'  she  said  to  me,  '  it  is  your  duty  to 
obey.  He  loves  you  too  well  not  to  pardon  you.'  My  father  came  up. 
I  understood  that  he  was  expecting  my  reply  :  I  threw  myself  weep- 
ing into  his  arms.  He  kissed  me  on  the  forehead;  his  joy  was  my  only 
consolation  at  that  supreme  hour.  '  Whom  have  you  chosen  ?'  he  said 
to  me.  Alas  !  I  had  not  even  thought  of  that !  The  two  gentlemen 
presented  themselves  to  my  mind.  M.  de  Pomereux  was  young  and 
handsome,  the  other  was  old  and  suffering.  I  did  not  hesitate.  '  II. 
d'Albergotti,'  I  replied.  My  father  appeared  astonished,  but  he  did 
not  manifest  his  surprise  otherwise  than  by  a  movement  of  the  lips. 
' So  be  it,'  said  he,  'I  am  going  to  write  to  him.'  Two  days  after  M. 
d'Albergotti  returned  to  Malzonvilliers.  'I  owe  you  some  gratitude,' 
he  said  to  me  ;  '  but  be  assured  that  I  will  endeavor  to  give  you  as 
much  happiness  as  you  could  hope  for  from  a  father.'  His  voice  and 
the  look  which  accompanied  these  words  touched  me  deeply,  and  I 
placed  my  hand  in  his.  Have  courage,  my  friend  ;  honor  and  duty 
commanded  me  to  do  what  I  have  done  ;  you  will  suffer  with  me  with- 
out condemning  me.  We  will  accustom  ourselves  to  think  of  each 
other  only  as  a  brother  thinks  of  a  sister.  You  will  be  mine,  and  none 
other  than  you  and  my  husband  shall  enter  a  heart  which  has  taken 
refuge  in  God.  Farewell,  Jacques,  in  three  days  I  will  be  the  wife  of 
another  ;  it  will  no  longer  be  permitted  me  to  write  to  you.  Through 
pity,  do  not  despair  ;  your  despair  would  render  me  mad,  and  even 
now  I  hardly  possess  enough  reason  to  exhort  you  to  the  sacrifice.  But 
is  not  my  part  the  most  bitter?  You  remain  free — free  to  love — and  I 
am  enchained.  SUZANNE." 

When  Jacques  finished  this  reading,  he  arose.  His  face 
was  as  white  as  a  taper ;  no  tear  dimmed  the  feverish  bril- 
liancy of  his  glance;  he,  who  was  easily  moved,  remained 
impassible  while  facing  this  profound  grief  which  lacer- 
ated his  entire  being.  He  walked  with  a  quick  but  firm 
step  toward  the  house  of  Monsieur  de  Naucrais  and  en- 
tered. The  captain  was  at  work.  At  the  name  given  him 
by  the  sapper  on  guard,  Monsieur  de  Naucrais,  without 
turning  around,  asked  Belle-Rose  what  he  wanted. 

"A  leave,"  replied  the  sergeant. 

"Heyl"  said  the  captain.  "You  wish  a  leave?" 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  53 

"Yes,  monsieur." 

The  captain  quitted  his  desk.  If  the  voice  of  Belle-Eose 
had  appeared  altered  to  him,  the  expression  of  his  counte- 
nance had  astonished  him. 

'What  is  the  matter  with  you?"  he  said  to  him. 
'I  must  leave  for  St.  Omer." 
'To-day?" 
'This  moment." 

'And  if  I  do  not  wish  to  give  you  this  leave?" 
'I  would  recommend  my  soul  to  God,  my  body  to  Mon- 
sieur d'Assonville,   and  would  afterward  blow  out  my 
brains. ' ' 

"There  would  perhaps  be  no  great  harm  in  that ;  it  would 
be  a  task  the  less  for  my  sapper." 
"I  am  waiting,  my  captain,"  said  Belle-Rose. 
Monsieur  de  Naucrais  eyed  him  a  minute ;  he  was  a  man 
who  knew  something  about  faces.     The  expression  of  the 
sergeant's    made  him   comprehend  that    Belle-Rose  had 
taken  an  irrevocable  resolution,  and  that  this  resolution 
came  from  a  violent  shock.     He  loved  the  son  of  the  old 
falconer  more  than  he  permitted  it  to  be  seen,  therefore 
he  came  to  an  immediate  decision. 

'But  what,  then,  is  taking  place  at  St.  Omer?"  said  he. 
'Mademoiselle  de  Malzonvilliers  is  to  get  married." 
'Well!  how  does  that  concern  you?" 
'I  love  her." 

'Ah!  that  is  an  excellent  reason!    Behind  all  the  follies 
which  men  undertake,  seek,  and  you  find  a  woman.  Come, 
Belle-Rose,  what  will  you  do  at  St.  Omer?" 
"I  shall  see  her. " 

"And  if  she  does  not  wish  to  receive  you?" 
"It  will  happen  as  God  wills." 

"This  is  frenzy!  My  brother  and  you  yourself  have  re- 
lated to  me  this  story,  but  I  had  forgotten  it.  A  soldier's 
love  is  an  autumn  flower." 

Belle  Rose  looked  at  the  clock ;  this  movement  did  not 
escape  Monsieur  de  Naucrais. 

'  'Eh !  my  boy,  we  have  only  been  talking  a  quarter  of 
an  hour.     What  is  that?" 
"It  is  an  order." 

The  captain  approached  the  table,  wrote  some  words  on 
a  slip  of  paper,  and  signed. 

"Go  to  the  devil!"  said  he  to  Belle-Rose,  giving  him  the 
paper. 

But  as  Belle-Rose  started  to  withdraw,  he  took  his  hand: 
"You  are  the  son  of  old  Guillaume,  my  friend;  do  not 


54  THE  DHOPS  IN  THE  CUP. 

commit  a  folly ;  you  would  afflict  Monsieur  d'Assonville 
and  myself.  You  have  an  honest  soul,  have  a  strong 
heart." 

Belle-Rose    pressed    Monsieur  de  Naucrais'   hand  and 
rushed  out  of  the  room. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  DROPS  IN  THE  CUP. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  after  having  quitted  Monsieur  de 
Naucrais,  Belle-Rose,  riding  a  post-horse,  was  flying  at 
full  speed  over  the  route  to  St.  Omer.  At  each  relay  he 
gave  gold  to  the  postilions.  Belle-Rose  fled  like  a  bullet. 
When  he  perceived  the  steeple  of  St.  Omer  he  had  not  said 
four  words,  but  he  had  ridden  down  four  horses.  At  the 
last  relay  he  turned  aside  from  the  road  and  took  his  way 
through  the  fields  in  the  direction  of  Malzonvilliers.  The 
sounds  of  a  bell  came  to  him.  Though  it  was  not  a  holi- 
day, no  one  was  at  work.  This  solitude  and  these  confused 
tellings  oppressed  the  sergeant's  heart.  He  hastened  on 
and  reached  the  chateau  in  a  breathless  state.  If  silence 
pervaded  the  country,  all  was  tumult  and  confusion  at 
Malzonvilliers.  All  sorts  of  lackeys  went  and  came,  and 
the  peasants  were  drinking  and  singing.  Belle-Rose  glided 
into  the  midst  of  this  crowd  which  paid  no  attention  to 
him ;  but,  just  as  he  was  going  to  bound  upon  the  terrace, 
the  doors  of  the  chateau  opened  wide,  and  a  procession  of 
richly  costumed  people  appeared  upon  the  threshold.  The 
crowd  uncovered  themselves,  the  bells  rang  joyously,  and 
Belle-Rose  saw  beyond  the  porch  of  a  neighboring  chapel, 
resplendent  with  a  thousand  lighted  tapers.  Before  he  had 
recovered  from  his  emotion,  the  procession  had  passed 
under  the  porch  vailed  by  the  floating  vapors  of  the  in- 
cense. Belle-Rose  followed  it  and  concealed  himself  in  a 
corner  of  the  chapel.  For  some  time  he  remained  bowed 
like  a  young  tree  lashed  by  the  wind ;  all  the  strength  left 
to  him  he  made  use  of  in  prayer  to  God.  When  he  again 
raised  his  head,  his  first  look  fell  upon  the  altar.  A  man 
with  silvery  hair,  and  a  woman  wearing  a  transparent  vail, 
were  kneeling  upon  velvet  carpets.  No  sooner  than  he  saw 
this  woman,  Belle-Rose's  eyes  were  fixed  immovably  upon 
her.  Drops  of  sweat  beaded  upon  the  soldier's  forehead ; 
his  temples  seemed  bound  in  an  iron  vise,  his  ears  tingled 


THE  DROPS  IN  THE  CUP.  55 

like  those  of  a  drowning  man.  He  could  not  have  cried  out 
if  he  had  made  an  effort  to  do  so ;  his  throat  was  closed. 
The  ceremony  of  the  marriage  was  accomplished  without 
his  making  any  movement.  There  was  no  life  in  his  body 
except  in  his  eyes,  and  his  eyes  did  not  quit  the  altar. 
When  they  had  received  the  nuptial  benediction,  the  two 
spouses  arose,  and  the  young  woman  turned  around.  It 
was  indeed  she,  Suzanne  de  Malzonvilliers,  now  Marquise 
d'Albergotti.  Belle-Rose  did  not  even  tremble.  What  need 
had  he  to  see  her  in  order  to  recognize  her?  The  procession 
soon  took  its  way  toward  the  porch ;  but  this  time  the 
bride  and  groom  marched  at  the  head.  The  procession 
made  the  circuit  of  the  chapel,  the  crowd  parting  before  it ; 
from  the  movement  around  him,  Belle-Eose  understood 
that  Suzanne  was  advancing.  He  stood  upright.  A  pillar, 
against  which  he  had  leaned,  prevented  him  from  recoil- 
ing. The  bride  and  groom  approached  slowly ;  the  long 
vail  of  Suzanne  swept  the  floor,  and  her  virginal  beauty 
was  displayed  under  its  transparence.  The  nave  was 
narrow;  a  corner  of  his  sweetheart's  dress  brushed  Belle- 
Eose  ;  a  sigh  half  parted  his  lips,  and  he  leaned  against 
the  pillar.  Suzanne  raised  her  inclined  forehead.  Near 
her,  and  in  the  penumbra  of  the  chapel,  she  caught  a 
glimpse  of  a  pale  face  in  which  blazed  two  eyes  filled  with 
the  sinister  flames  of  despair.  Suzanne  tottered.  But 
before  the  cry  which  came  from  her  soul  had  expired  upon 
her  lips,  the  procession  had  pushed  her  forward,  and 
when  she  turned  back,  Belle-Eose  had  vanished  like  an 
apparition.  A  living  rampart  separated  them.  But  while 
the  crowd  pressed  with  its  thousand  feet  the  sacred  in- 
closure,  Belle-Eose  felt  his  heart  and  reason  wandering. 
He  did  not  think,  he  did  not  dream,  he  did  not  suffer ;  he 
was  paralyzed.  He  remained  immovable,  his  back  rest- 
ing against  the  pillar,  his  arms  hanging  listless  beside 
him,  his  head  inclined  upon  his  breast,  and  no  longer  hear- 
ing anything  but  the  dull  throbbing  of  his  heart.  The 
crowd  had  long  since  left  the  chapel.  The  white  image  of 
Suzanne  alone  filled  it  for  him. 

At  this  moment  the  beadle  passed,  making  his  round. 
Seeing  a  man  alone,  standing  against  a  pillar,  he  went  to 
him  and  struck  him  on  the  shoulder. 

"Eh !  friend, "  said  he,  "the  wedding  has  been  over  for 
sometime;  let  me  close  the  doors,  then." 

Belle-Eose  raised  his  head  and  looked  at  the  beadle.  The 
poor  man  was  troubled  by  this  look.  Great  tears  fell  from 
the  soldier's  eyes  and  bathed  his  colorless  cheeks. 


56  THE  DROPS  IN  THE  CUP. 

"Diable!"  said  the  other,  "if  you  are  sick,  you  should 
say  so." 

Belle-Rose  had  just  perceived  the  country  through  the 
open  doors  of  the  chapel ;  at  the  same  time  he  recollected 
everything,  and,  making  no  answer,  he  rushed  out  of  the 
building. 

He  crossed  the  terraces,  constantly  running,  and  leaping 
over  hedges  and  ditches,  he  advanced  more  quickly  than 
a  stag  toward  the  house  of  Guillaume  Grinedal. 

The  garden  was  deserted ;  he  crossed  it  and  pushed  open 
the  door  of  the  house.  A  man  turned  round,  and  Belle- 
Rose  fell  at  his  feet. 

"My  father!"  he  exclaimed,  and  he  fainted. 

The  father  knelt  down  near  his  son.  He  was  alone,  Clan- 
dine  and  Pierre  having  remained  at  the  chateau.  The  sol- 
dier was  lying  still ;  the  violence  of  his  emotions  and  the 
fatigue  had  exhausted  his  strength.  Guillaume  took  him 
in  his  arms  and  laid  him  upon  a  bench  fastened  to  the 
wall.  Belle-Rose's  heart  beat,  but  "his  half -closed  eyes 
stared  vacantly.  They  had  been  together  for  more  than  an 
hour — the  son  speechless  and  cold,  the  father  praying  to 
God — when  the  door,  pusned  violently  open,  gave  passage 
to  two  women  enveloped  in  mantles.  When  the  mantles 
fell,  Guillaume  recognized  Suzanne  and  Claudine.  Suzanne 
reached  the  bench  with  a  bound,  leaned  over  Belle-Rose, 
eyed  him  a  moment,  then  turned  to  the  old  falconer.  Her 
looks  had  a  terrible  eloquence.  They  were  filled  with  all 
the  terror,  with  all  the  remorse,  with  all  the  reproaches  of 
the  woman  who  loves.  Guillaume  understood  this  look. 

"He  lives,"  said  he. 

"But  he  is  going  to  die,"  exclaimed  Suzanne. 

"God  will  spare  me  that  trial,"  said  the  father. 

"Oh!  I  was  not  deceived,"  said  she;  "it  was  indeed  he! 
When  I  saw  him  so  pale  that  he  had  the  appearance  of  a 
corpse  rather  than  of  a  living  being,  all  my  blood  grew 
chilled.  Oh,  Guillaume,  what  have  you  exacted?  Clau- 
dine, what  have  you  made  me  do?" 

It  was  no  longer  the  same  woman.  All  the  reserve,  all 
the  calm,  all  the  serenity  of  Suzanne  had  abandoned  her; 
her  disordered  hair  streamed  over  the  bridal  toilet;  she 
was  whiter  than  her  dress ;  her  lips  quivered;  she  wrung 
her  hands. 

"But  you  see  that  he  is  dying!"  she  cried,  falling  upon 
her  knees;  "he  has  not  even  recognized  me!" 

Guillaume  took  pity  on  such  a  profound  despair;  he 
forgot  his  own  grief  to  think  only  of  Suzanne. 


THE  DROPS  IN  THE  CUP.  57 

"Arise,  madame, "  lie  said  to  her.  "Eecollect  the  name 
you  bear,  and  no  longer  remain  here,  when  no  longer  be- 
ing able  to  do  anything  for  his  happiness,  you  may  destroy 
yours." 

"My  happiness!  And  what  matters  to  me  my  happi- 
ness?" said  she,  with  a  passionate  ardor.  "He  suffers,  he 
is  unhappy,  I  shall  remain  here  until  he  has  heard  me,  un- 
til he  has  pardoned  me.  Oh !  through  pity,  my  father, 
leave  me  near  him." 

Guillaume  had  not  the  courage  to  drive  her  away,  and 
both  drew  near  Belle-Rose,  whom  Claudine  was  vainly 
calling. 

"Jacques!"  said  Suzanne,  in  a  low  tone. 

Jacques  remained  silent. 

"My  God!  can  he  be  dead,  since  he  no  longer  hears  even 
me?"  said  she. 

Claudine  turned  to  the  door. 

"Night  is  approaching, "  said  she,  "perhaps  they  are 
looking  for  you  at  the  chateau." 

"Let  them  come,  then,  Monsieur  de  Malzonvilliers  and 
Monsieur  d'Albergotti, "  she  replied,  in  a  somber  tone. 
"My  father  has  willed  it." 

"You  destroy  yourself  and  you  will  not  save  him !"  said 
the  father. 

"But  what,  then,  do  you  wish  me  to  do?"  exclaimed  Su- 
zanne, with  clasped  hands  and  tears  in  her  eyes. 

"We  must  separate,"  said  a  voice. 

Suzanne  and  Claudine  trembled;  it  was  the  voice  of 
Jacques,  and  Jacques  himself  was  seated  upon  the  bench, 
still  too  weak  to  rise,  but  already  too  strong  to  remain 
stretched  out. 

"Jacques!"  they  mutually  exclaimed. 

"I  thought  I  was  going  to  die,"  said  he.  "I  heard  you, 
but  could  not  speak.  Now  listen  to  me.  You,  Suzanne," 
he  added,  "you  whom  I  call  thus  for  the  last  time,  you 
must  return  to  the  chateau." 

Suzanne  shook  her  head. 

"It  must  be  so,"  continued  Jacques,  "and  I  beg  you  to 
do  so.  1  have  indeed  the  right,"  said  he,  with  a  sad  smile, 
"to  ask  a  favor  of  you." 

Suzanne  bowed  her  head. 

"Do  you  pardon  me,  Jacques?" 

"I  have  nothing  to  pardon.  You  have  obeyed  your 
father  and  mine.  I  heard  you  just  now,  and  I  understood 
that  your  grief  equaled  mine;  though  you  are  banished 


58  THE  DEOPS  IN  THE  CUP. 

from  me  forever,  you  are  still  dear  and  sacred  to  me.  Now 
farewell;  you  are  the  Marquise  d'Albergotti. " 

"The  name  does  not  change  the  heart, "  said  Suzanne. 
"If  you  had  died  on  account  of  me,  1  should  have  killed 
myself. ' 

Jacques  seized  her  hand,  but  just  as  he  was  carrying  it 
to  his  lips  with  a  convulsive  ardor,  Guillaume  Grinedal 
stopped  him. 

"Madame  d'Albergotti,"  said  he,  "your  husband  is  ex- 
pecting you. ' ' 

The  two  lovers  trembled  from  head  to  foot;  their  joined 
hands  separated.  The  voice  of  Guillaume  had  awakened 
Suzanne  as  if  from  a  dream.  For  an  hour  the  lover  had 
triumphed  over  the  wife ;  it  was  now  the  wife's  turn  to 
triumph  over  the  lover.  Suzanne  raised  her  forehead,  over 
which  passed  a  sudden  blush. 

"Farewell!"  said  she  to  Jacques.  "You  do  not  lose  me 
entirely,  the  fiiend  remains  to  you." 

Jacques  did  not  reply,  and  Suzanne  went  away  on  Clau- 
dine's  arm.  When  they  were  alone,  Jacques  and  Guillaume 
embraced  each  other. 

Jacques  passed  the  night  under  the  falconer's  roof,  but 
at  daybreak  he  left.  Once  more  he  received  the  paternal 
benedistion  upon  the  threshold  of  that  door  where,  three 
years  before,  he  had  knelt  down  full  of  joy  and  hope,  and 
which  he  now  quitted  full  of  bitterness  and  discourage- 
ment. Jacques  did  not  take  the  route  to  Laon ;  like  all 
wounded  hearts  he  had  need  of  affection ;  he  thought  of 
Monsieur  d'Assonville  and  directed  his  course  toward 
Arras,  where  the  captain  of  light-horse  was  then  garri- 
soned. A  secret  instinct  told  him  that  Monsieur  d'Asson- 
ville was  suffering  like  him,  and  that  therefore  he  loved 
without  hope.  The  sergeant  found  the  young  officer  in  a 
salon  badly  lighted  by  a  slender  ray  filtered  between 
thick  curtains.  Monsieur  d'Assonville  was  walking  in  this 
large  room,  where  the  noise  of  his  steps  was  stifled  by  a 
carpet.  He  was  still  the  same  handsome  young  man,  whose 
intelligent  head  had  an  air  of  gentleness  and  pride  which 
was  charming.  Only  his  look  seemed  sadder  still,  and  the 
transparent  pallor  of  his  face  was  marbled  by  bluish  tints 
under  the  eyelids.  On  seeing  the  soldier,  Monsieur 
d'Assonville  smiled. 

"Welcome,"  he  said  to  him.  "Do  you  bring  us  this  time 
sappers  or  cannoneers?" 

"No,  captain,  I  come  alone." 

"Alone!  And  what  do  you  come  for?" 


THE  DROPS  IN  THE  CUP.  59 

Jacques  did  not  reply.  Monsieur  d'Assonville,  aston- 
ished, drew  near  him ;  a  gust  of  wind  which  parted  the 
curtains  permitted  him  to  see  better  the  face  of  his  pro- 
tege. 

"My  God!  what  is  the  matter  with  you?"  he  exclaimed. 

"Suzanne  is  married!"  replied  Jacques. 

Monsieur  d'Assonville  took  his  hand  and  pressed  it. 

"Poor  Belle-Rose!  you  loved  her,  then.  It  must  be  so. 
Now,  you  suffer  and  you  are  alone.  For  six  years  I  have 
wept." 

Belle-Rose  in  his  turn  pressed  the  hand  of  Monsieur 
d'Assonville. 

"You  have  a  loyal  and  noble  heart,  and  you  ventured  to 
place  your  life  upon  a  woman's  word,"  continued  the  cap- 
tain. "I  know  how  it  is.  When  one  takes  a  mistress  at 
hazard  and  quits  her  as  one  loses  a  pistole  at  lansquenet, 
these  things  never  happen.  Only  fools  love,  and  we  be- 
long to  those  fools.  I  will  not  say  to  you  to  shake  off  your 
suffering  as  one  shakes  off  the  dust  of  the  road,  but  you 
are  a  man  and  a  soldier.  Toughen  yourself  to  the  evil  and 
wait;  if  you  die  from  it,  you  must  die  standing." 

"Yes,  captain,"  replied  Belle-Rose,  in  a  firm  voice,  and 
passing  his  hands  through  his  long  and  curly  hair,  he 
threw  back  his  head. 

Monsieur  d'Assonville  smiled. 

"You  are  a  brave  and  courageous  fellow.  If  you  so  de- 
sired, twenty  women  would  avenge  you  on  your  unfaith- 
ful sweetheart." 

Belle-Rose  shook  his  head. 

"Suit  yourself.  But  take  care;  you  are  too  sad  for  them 
not  to  attempt  to  console  you ;  if  you  avoid  them,  they 
will  seek  you." 

Monsieur  d'Assonville  again  took  up  his  walk  over  the 
room.  Each  time  that  he  passed  before  Belle-Rose  he 
looked  at  him,  and  at  each  turn  he  looked  longer  than  be- 
fore. Finally  he  stopped  before  him. 

"Do  you  wish  to  render  me  a  service,  Belle-Rose?"  he 
said  to  him. 

'I  am  yours  body  and  soul." 

'Will  you  do  all  I  tell  you?" 

'All." 

'And  you  promise  me  to  keep  silent  at  the  price  of  your 
life?" 

'I  swear  it." 

'It  is  well.  I  am  going  to  prepare  your  instructions;  to- 
morrow you  will  leave  for  Paris." 


60  A  HOUSE  IN  THE  RUE  CASSETTE. 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

A  HOUSE  IN  THE  RUE  CASSETTE. 

Early  the  next  day  Monsieur  d'Assonville  ordered  Belle- 
Rose  into  his  apartment.  Upon  the  table  before  which  he 
•was  seated  were  to  be  seen  some  letters  and  divers  scat- 
tered papers.  The  captain's  pallor,  his  weary  eyes,  indi- 
cated that  he  had  passed  the  entire  night  in  writing. 

"I  have  informed  Monsieur  de  Naucrais  that  I  need  your 
services,"  said  he  to  Belle-Rose.  "Your  responsibility  as 
a  soldier  has  ceased,  and  from  day  to  day  the  prolonga- 
tion of  your  leave  will  arrive.  Are  you  ready  to  start?" 

"At  any  time." 

"Perhaps  there  will  be  some  danger  in  executing  the 
commission,  and  I  must  warn  you  of  it." 

"I  only  regret  that  this  danger  is  not  certain." 

Monsieur  d'Assonville  raised  his  eyes  to  Belle-Rose,  and 
giving  him  his  hand,  said: 

"Leave  sadness  to  those  who  no  longer  hope.  You  are 
twenty,  Belle-Rose,  and  twenty  is  the  age  of  pleasure." 

"And  you  thirty,  captain ;  thirty  is  the  age  of  passions." 

"You  think  so?"  said  the  captain,  with  a  smile.  "It 
seems  to  me  that  I  no  longer  have  a  heart."  He  was  silent 
a  moment,  then  he  resumed:  "God  is  supreme.  Dismiss 
this  and  let  us  return  to  your  journey.  Here  are  three  let- 
ters, my  friend.  Each  of  them  contains  a  part  of  my  life. 
Retain  well  what  I  am  going  to  say  to  you.  On  your  ar- 
rival at  Paris,  you  will  take  lodging  in  a  street  near  the 
Luxembourg.  Toward  evening  you  will  go  to  the  Rue 
Cassette,  at  the  corner  of  the  Rue  de  Vangirard,  taking 
care  to  carry  with  you  the  smallest  of  these  three  letters. 
You  will  strike  at  a  low  door  giving  upon  a  court  planted 
with  trees.  At  the  third  knock  the  door  will  be  opened. 
You  will  display  your  letter  and  ask  the  person  who  an- 
swers your  call  to  deliver  it  to  Mademoiselle  Camille. 
Bear  this  name  well  in  mind,  for  it  is  not  upon  the  letter. 
If  you  are  told  that  she  has  gone,  insist  on  its  being  deliv- 
ered to  her  brother  Cyprien.  The  individual  addressed 
will  take  the  letter  and  you  will  withdraw,  after  having 
taken  care  to  write  plainly  your  name  and  address  upon 
the  envelope." 

"Well— Camille  and  Cyprien." 

"If,  after  three  days,  you  have  received  no  reply,  you 


A  HOUSE  IN  THE  RUE  CASSETTE.  61 

will  return  to  the  Rue  Cassette,  and  you  will  hand   to  the 
same  person  a  second  letter — this  one." 

"The  one  which  is  larger  than  the  first  and  smaller  than 
the  third?" 

"Precisely.  You  will  wait  three  days  longer.  At  the  end 
of  these  three  days,  if  you  have  seen  neither  valet  nor 
note,  you  will  take  the  last  letter  and  carry  it  as  you  did 
the  other  two." 

"And  I  will  again  ask  for  Mademoiselle  Camille  or  Mon- 
sieur Cyprien,  her  brother?" 

"Yes,  only  this  time  you  will  add  upon  the  envelope 
these  words:  'I  leave  in  twenty-four  hours.'  " 

"And  shall  I  really  leave?" 

"Unless  you  prefer  to  stay  in  Paris." 

"Then  I  shall  leave." 

"I  do  not  think  so.  Certainly  some  one  will  come  after 
the  third  letter,  if  not  before." 

"Mademoiselle  Camille  or  Monsieur  Cyprien?" 

"One  or  the  other,  or  perhaps  both,"  said  Monsieur 
d'Assonville,  with  a  singular  smile.  "You  will  follow 
them  and  do  everything  they  tell  you." 

"But  how  shall  I  recognize  them?" 

"By  these  words  which  Mademoiselle  Camille  will  pro- 
nounce on  accosting  you:  'The  Castilian  is  waiting.'  Per- 
haps you  will  be  informed  by  a  note  where  these  words 
will  be  found.  This  note  will  indicate  to  you  a  rendezvous, 
and  you  will  go  to  it.  There  is  no  danger,  only — take  a 
poniard." 

"Ah!" 

"You  will  take  care  to  always  have  the  right  arm  free 
and  ready  to  act." 

"Ah!  ah!" 

"Oh,  'tis  a  simple  precaution.  When  you  shall  have  ar- 
rived at  the  place  indicated  and  spoken  to  the  person  to 
whom  I  send  you,  you  will  repeat  to  me  all  that  you  have 
seen  and  heard  at  once  and  without  a  moment's  loss  of 
time." 

"Is  that  all?" 

"It  is  all.  Leave  now,  and  may  God  guide  you  and  aid 
you." 

Just  as  Belle-Rose  was  mounting  his  horse,  Monsieur 
d'Assonville  embraced  him : 

"Whether  I  live  or  die,"  he  said  to  him,  "I  have  your 
word ;  I  count  upon  your  silence." 

Belle-Rose  placed  the  three  letters  in  his  doublet,  and 
took  his  departure.  The  agitation  of  his  body  calmed  the 


62  A  HOUSE  IN  THE  RUE  CASSETTE. 

agitation  of  his  mind ;  he  made  the  journey  to  Paris  at  a 
gallop  in  order  to  repose  himself.  His  first  care,  on  arriv- 
ing at  Paris,  was  to  stop  at  a  small  furnished  lodging  on 
the  ground  floor  of  a  house  in  the  Rue  du  Pot-de-Fer  St. 
Sulpice.  The  apartment,  which  was  composed  of  a  room 
and  a  large  closet,  was  genteel  and  had  a  view  opening 
upon  some  gardens.  Belle-Rose  paid  two  weeks  in  ad- 
vance, Monsieur  d'Assonville  having  made  it  possible  for 
him  to  cut  a  figure  at  Paris ;  then,  drawing  aside  the  pro- 
prietor, who  was  at  the  same  time  the  concierge,  he  gave 
him  a  gold  louis  and  recommended  him  to  take  care  whom 
he  admitted  to  see  him.  These  manners  won  the  inn- 
keeper's heart;  he  doffed  his  cap. 

"My  gentleman,"  said  he,  "I  have,  though  old,  eyes  to 
see,  ears  to  hear,  and  a  tongue  to  speak.  You  will  he 
served  as  you  desire." 

"'Tis  well.    Only  learn  that  I  am  not  a  gentleman." 

' '  So  much  the  worse ;  men  formed  like  you  deserve  to 
be  marquises  by  birth." 

"You  will  call  me  Belle-Rose." 

"I  will  call  you  as  you  wish;  but  you  will  not  prevent 
me  from  saying  that,  if  you  are  not  really  what  I  sup- 
posed, fate  has  acted  like  an  ill-bred  person." 

Belle-Rose  threw  a  cloak  around  his  shoulders,  slipped  the 
smallest  of  the  three  letters  into  his  pocket,  and  went 
out. 

"All  the  same, "  said  the  landlord,  following  him  with 
his  eye  as  he  went  along  the  walls  of  the  Rue  du  Pot-de- 
Fer  St.  Sulpice,  "he  has  wished  to  disguise  himself — and 
that  is  his  affair ;  but  you  cannot  convince  me  but  what  he 
is  a  great  lord.  What  a  figure !" 

This  exclamation  answered  his  thought.  It  said:  "What 
a louis!" 

Things  happened  as  Monsieur  d'Assonville  had  an- 
nounced to  Belle-Rose.  The  low  door  opened  only  at  the 
third  knock;  a  woman,  muffled  in  a  head-dress  which 
descended  in  front  even  to  her  eyes,  and  behind  even  to 
her  neck,  appeared  upon  the  threshold.  She  cast  upon 
Belle-Rose  a  keen  glance  which  embraced  him  from  head 
to  foot,  then  lowered  her  eyes,  crossed  her  arms,  and 
waited.  The  house  was  full  of  cracks,  shaky,  and  covered 
with  moss.  This  house  must  already  have  been  old  in  the 
time  of  the  League ;  it  had  a  discreet  appearance,  a  de- 
voted air,  a  mournful  aspect.  No  stream  of  smoke  issued 
from  the  chimneys,  and  the  windows  were  closed.  In  the 
court  grew  enormous  trees,  and  under  their  shade  were 


A  HOUSE  IN  THE  EUE  CASSETTE.  63 

scattered  marble  vases  of  a  precious  workmanship,  but 
soiled  by  lichen  and  void  of  flowers. 

"This  house  is  not  to  rent,"  said  the  woman. 

"Therefore  I  did  not  come  for  that,"  replied  Belle-Rose, 
who  blushed  slightly ;  "I  have  a  letter  here  which  I  am 
charged  to  deliver  to  Mademoiselle  Camille. " 

The  woman  threw  another  glance  at  Belle-Rose. 

"She  has  gone,"  she  then  said,  with  eyes  lowered. 

"Will  you  hand  this  letter  to  her  brother,  then?" 

Another  glance  glided  between  the  eyelashes  of  this  dis- 
creet person,  and  was  promptly  extinguished. 

"What  brother?" 

"Monsieur  Cyprien. " 

The  woman  extended  her  hand,  took  the  letter,  saluted, 
and  shut  the  door  in  Belle-Rose's  face. 

The  third  day,  Belle-Rose  was  halted  by  the  landlord 
just  as  he  was  about  to  unlock  his  room. 

"There  is  a  letter  here  for  you,"  he  said  to  him. 

"Ah!  ah!"  said  the  sergeant,  thinking  that  the  reply 
had  not  been  delayed  as  long  as  the  captain  thought  it 
would. 

"Where  is  this  letter?" 

"Here  it  is." 

"Eh!  eh!"  said  Belle-Rose,  reading  the  address,  "it  ap- 
pears that  they  know  my  name,  title,  and  rank.  It  is  in- 
deed this:  'Belle-Rose,  Sergeant  of  Sappers  in  the  Regi- 
ment of  La  Ferte.'" 

The  host  smiled  shrewdly. 

"Yes;  they  suspected — like  myself,"  said  he. 

The  letter  was  inclosed  in  an  envelope  sealed  with  red 
wax.  Belle-Rose  broke  the  seal  and  quickly  threw  his  eyes 
over  the  paper.  This  is  what  it  contained : 

"  Sergeant  Bell e-Kose  has  violated  discipline  by  quitting  his  com- 
pany without  permission.  In  order  to  recall  it  to  him,  said  sergeant 
will  be  placed  under  arrest  eight  days  on  his  return  to  the  corps  ;  but 
in  order  to  excuse  Lis  absence  he  will  find  inclosed  the  commission  of 
recruiting  sergeant  and  the  instructions  which  are  incident  to  this  new 
grade.  Sergeant  Belle-Kose  is  authorized  to  remain  a  month  at  Paris 
or  elsewhere,  if  need  be.  Le  Vicomte  GEOBGES  DE  NAUOBAIS." 

"This  is  again  kindness  disguised,"  murmured  Belle- 
Rose  ;  and  on  the  following  day  he  entered  on  his  func- 
tions. 

Each  evening  Belle-Rose  asked  him  if  any  one  had 
come. 

"No  one,"  replied  the  good  man,  and  for  fear  that  some 


64:  A  HOUSE  IN  THE  HUE  CASSETTE. 

one  might  coine  in  his  absence,  Monsieur  Meriset  remained 
seated  in  a  small  salon  near  the  door,  from  morning  to 
evening. 

The  third  day,  Monsieur  Meriset  ran  to  Belle- Rose  as 
soon  as  he  saw  him.  For  an  hour  the  inhabitants  of  the 
Rue  du  Pot-de-Fer  St.  Sulpice  had  seen  Monsieur  Meri- 
set promenading  before  his  door  and  drawing  out  his 
watch  every  minute.  The  honest  landlord  accosted  Belle- 
Rose,  cap  in  hand,  with  an  air  at  the  same  time  myster- 
ious and  delighted. 

'Well,  Monsieur  Belle-Rose?"  said  he. 

'Well,  Monsieur  Meriset." 

'Some  one  has  come." 

'Ah !  ah !  a  lady  or  a  gentleman?" 

'A  young  lord  richly  dressed,  with  a  mustache  turned 
up  at  the  corners,  a  pointed  nose,  and  a  distinguished  ap- 
pearance." 

"He  has  inquired  after  me?" 

"Certes,  yes,  without  saluting,  as  gentlemen  do.  'My 
good  fellow,'  he  has  said  to  me,  'is  Belle-Rose  here?'  'No, 
monseigneur, '  I  have  replied,  standing  with  hat  in  hand. 
By  his  easy  air  I  understood  at  once  that  I  was  dealing 
with  a  gentleman  of  the  court.  'Au  diable!'  he  continued. 
'You  will  tell  him  that  I  wish  to  see  him.  I  shall  expect 
him  to-morrow.' ' 

'Did  he  tell  you  his  name?" 

'No." 

'His  address?" 

'No."' 

'Where  the  devil,  Monsieur  Meriset,  shall  I  find  him?" 

'Oh,  he  has  said  nothing  to  me,  he  has  written  every- 
thing to  you." 

"Well  and  good,  Monsieur  Meriset,  this  is  what  you 
should  have  stated  in  the  beginning." 

Belle-Rose  found  upon  a  table  a  slip  of  paper,  and  upon 
this  slip  of  paper  these  words : 
"Gaspard  de  Villebrais." 

"My  lieutenant!"  he  exclaimed,  "what  can  he  want 
with  me?" 

The  simplest  way,  for  knowing,  was  to  go  to  the  lieuten- 
ant's lodging;  this  is  what  Belle-Rose  did  the  next  day. 
Monsieur  de  Villebrais  informed  him  that  he  was  at  Paris 
on  his  own  business,  and  at  the  same  time  on  that  of  the 
company. 

"I  will  attend  to  mine,  and  I  depend  on  you  to  look 
after  the  other,"  he  added.  "If  you  need  me,  you  will  find 


A  HOUSE  IN  THE  RUE  CASSETTE.  65 

me  every  day,  from  one  to  two  o'clock,  at  the  tennis  court, 
near  the  Luxembourg,  and  from  three  to  four  at  the  Place 
Royale.  It  is  there  that  the  best  society  goes.  Adieu,  I 
am  expected  elsewhere." 

"From  one  to  two  at  the  Luxembourg,  and  from  three 
to  four  at  the  Place  Royale.  'Tis  well ;  I  shall  recollect  it 
to  the  extent  of  not  going  there,"  said  Belle-Rose  to  him- 
self as  he  went  away. 

This  lieutenant  was  a  man  of  a  haughty  and  irascible  dis- 
position whom  all  his  subordinates  detested. 

The  following  day,  the  sergeant  returned  to  the  Rue 
Cassette  and  struck  at  the  low  door.  The  same  lady 
opened  and  this  time  took  the  letter  at  the  first  word. 

"Well!"  said  Belle-Rose  to  himself.  "At  our  first  inter- 
view she  spoke  five  or  six  words ;  to-day  she  has  not 
spoken  more  than  two ;  at  the  next  interview  she  will  not 
say  anything  at  all.  This  singularly  abridges  the  negotia- 
tions." 

Belle-Rose  kept  Monsieur  d'Assonville  constantly  ad- 
vised of  his  actions,  and  the  rest  of  his  time  he  beat  about 
the  city,  recruiting  heroes  at  six  sous  per  day  for  His  Most 
Christian  Majesty's  artillery.  Between  the  letters  and  the 
promenades  Belle-Rose  thought  constantly  of  Suzanne. 
He  could  not  accustom  himself  to  call  her  Madame  d'Al- 
bergotti.  But  if  his  love  was  as  profound  as  ever,  the 
recollection  of  it  was  less  bitter.  The  sentiment  of  duty, 
all  powerful  in  his  soul,  made  him  excuse  the  conduct  of 
Mademoiselle  de  Malzonvilliers,  who  had  given  way  only 
to  the  paternal  authority.  When  he  passed  through  the 
quarter  of  the  Palais-Royal,  through  the  Rue  St.  Honore, 
through  the  public  gardens,  his  handsome  appearance  and 
his  youth  attracted  the  looks  of  all  the  prepossessing 
grisettes  and  of  a  great  many  great  ladies,  also.  But  looks 
and  smiles  glided  over  a  heart  tenanted  by  regret.  Three 
days  after  the  sending  of  the  second  letter,  Belle-Rose  per- 
ceived, as  he  entered  the  Rue  du  Pot-de-Fer  St.  Sulpice, 
the  worthy  Monsieur  Meriset  walking  before  his  door  with 
a  hurried  step.  He  drew  off  his  cap,  placed  it  on  again, 
stopped,  looked  behind  him  and  before  him.  His  feet 
scarcely  touched  the  soil,  and  his  lips,  tightly  contracted, 
seemed  to  have  some  trouble  to  contain  a  stream  of  words 
ready  to  escape. 

"Eh!  eh!  "said  he,  quite  low,  to  Belle-Rose,  and  with 
the  most  mysterious  air  in  the  world,  "there  is  something 
new." 

"A  letter?" 


66  A  HOUSE  IN  THE  RUE  CASSETTE. 

"Better  than  that." 

"A  visit." 

"Exactly.  A  visit  such  as  the  greatest  gentleman  of  our 
glorious  king  would  he  pleased  to  receive." 

"It  is  a  woman,  then?" 

"And  one  of  the  prettiest — brown  eyes,  soft  and  bril- 
liant, hair  like  silken  threads,  a  slender  little  nose,  lips  to 
shame  the  freshest  roses,  and  what  teeth !  Ah !  my  gentle- 
man, how  willingly  one  would  change  one's  self  into  a 
cherry  to  be  bitten  by  those  teeth!" 

"Monsieur  Meriset,  poetry  has  made  you  forget  my 
rank;  no  gentility,  if  you  please." 

"He  persists  in  it, "  thought  the  honest  landlord.  And 
he  continued,  aloud:  "For  fifty-two  years  I  have  been  liv- 
ing in  the  Rue  du  Pot-de-Fer  St.  Sulpice,  and  never  before 
did  I  see  a  similar  face." 

"What  is  she— a  soubrette?" 

"A  soubrette!  ah,  fi!  with  that  figure  of  a  great  lady — 
she  is  a  marquise." 

"Did  she  tell  you  so?" 

"I  guessed  it." 

Belle-Rose  smiled,  having  a  personal  experience  of  his 
host's  perspicacity. 

"Agreed  that  she  is  a  marquise, "  said  he.  "At  least  she 
has  told  you  something?" 

"Certainly.     She  told  me  that  she  would  return." 

"Ah!" 

"Then  she  has  gone  away  again  in  the  chaise  which 
brought  her." 

"Without  saying  anything?" 

"Faith  no;  but  I  understood  from  her  air  that  she  was 
vexed  because  she  did  not  get  to  see  you." 

Belle-Rose  did  not  for  a  moment  doubt  but  what  the 
marquise  of  his  host  was  an  emissary  from  the  Rue  Cas- 
sette. Consequently  the  next  day  he  remained  at  home  all 
day  and  waited.  No  one  appeared.  It  was  the  same  the 
following  day.  Belle-Rose  returned  to  his  recruits. 

"Parbleu!"  said  he,  "if  anyone  wishes  to  see  me  let 
them  write  to  me.  There  are  pens  for  everybody. " 

As  he  was  returning  two  days  after,  toward  evening,  he 
saw  at  the  end  of  the  street  a  carriage  standing  still;  a 
woman  was  standing  before  the  portiere,  and  by  the  wo- 
man's side  a  man  was  bending  over,  his  cap  in  hand.  This 
man  was  Monsieur  Meriset.  The  intelligent  landlord  per- 
ceived Belle-Rose  with  the  corner  of  his  eye  and  made  him 
an  imperceptible  sign  to  induce  him  to  make  haste.  Belle- 


A  HOUSE  IN  THE  RUE  CASSETTE.  67 

Rose  did  hasten,  but  the  -woman  jumped  quickly  into  the 
carriage,  the  coachman  whipped  his  horses,  and  the  equip- 
age disappeared  down  the  Rue  Vangirard.  Monsieur  Mer- 
iset  stamped,  which  with  him  denoted  a  violent  annoy- 
ance. 

"Five  minutes  sooner,  and  you  held  her!"  he  exclaimed. 

"It  was  she,  then?" 

"No." 

"Who,  then?" 

"Another." 

"Young,  old,  ugly,  or  pretty?" 

"Perhaps  one,  perhaps  the  other.     I  do  not  know." 

"Nevertheless  you  saw  her." 

"Not  at  all.  She  had  a  large  black  vail  over  her  face." 

"What!  you  have  seen  nothing?" 

"Nothing,  save  the  foot." 

"Ah!" 

"The  foot  of  a  duchess!" 

"Parbleu!  But  tell  me  Monsieur  Meriset,  had  this  duch- 
ess, like  the  marquise,  a  vexed  air  because  she  did  not  meet 
me?" 

"On  the  contrary.  That  is  at  least  what  I  said  to  myself 
on  seeing  her  jump  into  the  carriage." 

"That  is  just.    She  did  not  come,  then,  to  speak  to  me?" 

"Not  altogether.     She  came  to  inquire." 

"And  what  did  you  answer,  Monsieur  Meriset?" 

"Ah!  ah!  I  am  not  a  fool,  though  I  look  like  one.  I  let 
her  talk  and  said  nothing." 

"Quite  sure?" 

"As  true  as  my  house  is  an  honest  house.  It  was  not  be- 
cause she  did  not  wish  to  tempt  me,  and  this  purse  given 
me  proves  well  enough  with  what  intentions  she  had 
come." 

"Eh !  what!  you  have  accepted  it?" 

"I  accepted  it  and  was  silent.  A  house  has  always  need 
of  repairs ;  but  the  repairs  do  not  oblige  me  to  speak. 
Vainly  she  tried  to  find  out  who  you  were,  what  you  did, 
whence  you  came — I  have  been  as  mute  as  this  cap.  You 
charmed  me  at  the  first  sight,  and  there  is  nothing  I 
would  not  do  for  you.  Nevertheless,  I  must  acknowledge 
that  my  discretion  has  perhaps  less  merit  at  bottom  than 
in  appearance.  I  have  said  nothing,  'tis  true,  but  I  also 
knew  nothing." 

"I  will  not  cavil  about  the  fact,  the  intention  suffices. " 

"Oh!  the  intention  was  excellent  and  will  always  be  so." 

Belle-Rose  believed  it  his  duty  to  reward  this  good  in- 


68  A  FRIEND  AND  AN  ENEMY. 

tention  in  order  to  maintain  it  in  the  sentiment  of  hon- 
esty, and  as  the  person  had  not  said  she  would  return,  he 
did  not  give  himself  the  trouble  to  -wait  for  her  next  day. 
For  once,  Belle-Rose  knew  not  what  to  think  of  these  two 
visits;  it  was  not  probable  that  they  both  came  from  the 
Rue  Cassette,  and  as,  on  the  other  hand,  he  did  not  know 
any  woman  in  Paris,  he  could  only  make  vain  supposi- 
tions. After  having  tortured  his  mind  in  a  thousand  ways, 
he  took  the  very  wise  part  of  leaving  to  the  future  the 
task  of  explaining  this  adventure.  The  day  for  his  third 
trip  to  the  house  in  the  Rue  Cassette  had  come.  The  result 
was  such  as  he  had  foreseen.  The  lady  took  the  letter  this 
time  without  observation.  The  next  day  Belle  Rose  in- 
stalled himself  at  home  and  waited.  The  hours  passed ;  no 
one  appeared.  Evening  came.  At  all  hazards,  Belle-Rose 
packed  his  clothing  so  as  to  be  ready  to  leave  at  daybreak 
and  went  out  to  dine  at  a  restaurant  in  the  Rue  du  Bac, 
where  he  was  accustomed  to  take  his  meals.  As  he  left  it, 
a  crowd  of  artisans  and  shopkeepers  stopped  him  at  the 
corner  of  the  Rue  de  Sevres ;  through  lack  of  nothing  to  do 
he  mingled  with  the  crowd  who  were  making  a  great  fuss 
about  a  sedan  bearer  who  was  quarreling  with  a  bourgeois. 
All  at  once  a  hand  seized  his  arm  and  a  woman's  voice 
pronounced  distinctly  these  words  in  his  ear:  "The  Cas- 
tilian  is  waiting."  Belle-Rose  trembled,  but  when  he 
turned  round,  none  but  workmen  were  near  him.  He  only 
felt  a  paper  which  the  hand  of  the  unknown  had  slipped 
into  his.  He  made  haste  to  leave  the  group  and  directed 
his  course  toward  the  Rue  du  Pot-de-Fer  St.  Sulpice  in 
order  to  read  the  note.  Just  as  he  pushed  open  the  door, 
a  woman  came  out.  She  stopped  brusquely.  A  stream  of 
light  fell  upon  the  face  of  Belle-Rose. 

"My  brother!"  exclaimed  the  woman. 

"Claudine!"  replied  Belle-Rose,  and  he  received  his  sis- 
ter in  his  arms. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

A  FRIEND  AND  AN  ENEMY. 

Belle-Rose  drew  Claudine  into  his  apartment  and  shut 
the  door  in  the  face  of  Monsieur  Meriset,  who  was  bowing 
and  scraping,  torch  in  hand. 

"It  is  the  marquise,"  murmured  the  honest  landlord,  re- 
turning to  his  lodge,  "and  he  calls  her  his  sister. " 


A  FEIEND  AND  AN  ENEMY.  69 

After  the  first  caresses,  Belle-Eose  made  Claudine  sit 
down  upon  a  sofa.  He  experienced  a  strong  desire  to  ad- 
dress her  a  question,  the  only  one  dear  to  his  heart,  a 
question  summed  up  by  a  name.  An  incredible  emotion 
prevented  him  from  doing  so.  He  took  a  roundabout  way 
to  arrive  at  his  object. 

"Have  you  not  been  here  before?"  he  said  to  Claudine. 

"I  was  here  some  days  ago.  But  since  then  it  has  been 
impossible  for  me  to  return." 

"Why  did  you  not  leave  your  address?" 

Claudine  appeared  embarrassed  for  a  moment. 

"I  could  not,"  she  presently  said. 

"And  why?" 

"Because  you  would  have  come  to  see  me." 

Belle-Rose  understood.  He  lowered  his  eyes,  and  Clau- 
dine took  his  hand. 

"You  did  not  come  to  Paris  alone,  then?"  said  he. 

Claudine  shook  her  head. 

"Suzanne  is  in  Paris!"  said  Belle -Rose.  "I  am  here,  and 
were  it  not  for  you  I  should  have  been  ignorant  of  her 
presence." 

"Oh,  do  not  blame  her!  When  she  left  Malzonvilliers  to 
follow  her  husband,  who  was  called  to  Paris  on  important 
business,  she  begged  me  to  accompany  her.  I  was  unable 
to  refuse  her.  She  is  so  unhappy !" 

"Unhappy!"  exclaimed  Belle-Rose. 

"God  and  I  alone  know  what  she  suffers.  Monsieur 
d'Albergotti  does  not  know.  When  he  is  present,  she 
smiles;  when  he  is  gone,  she  weeps." 

Belle-Rose  concealed  his  head  between  his  hands. 

"On  reaching  Paris  some  days  ago  she  fell  sick — oh,  she 
is  out  of  danger,"  said  Claudine,  on  seeing  her  brother's 
emotion;  "it  is  she  who  sent  me  here  to  you " 

"Oh!  I  shall  go  to  see  her,  to  thank  her " 

"No,  do  not  come.     Your  presence  would  kill  her." 

"She  has  not  forgotten  me,  then?"  exclaimed  Belle- 
Rose,  with  that  profound  accent  given  by  the  egotism  of 
love. 

"Forgotten?  If  you  were,  Jacques,  would  she  still  be  so 
sad  and  disconsolate?  Your  name  is  not  upon  her  lips,  but 
it  is  in  her  heart. ' ' 

Both  were  silent.  A  bitter  joy  filled  the  soul  of  Belle- 
Rose;  Claudine  almost  repented  having  spoken.  What 
happiness  could  come  from  this  revived  love?  Drawing 
her  handkerchief  from  her  pocket,  she  dried  her  humid 


70  A  FRIEND  AND  AN  ENEMY. 

eyes,  pushed  back  the  hair  which  vailed  her  child-like 
forehead,  and  smiled. 

"Brother,"  said  she,  "I  came  to  embrace  you  and  not  to 
•weep.  Let  us  dismiss  this  conversation  which  would  red- 
den my  eyes — something  which  I  am  not  in  a  humor  to 
permit — and  take  my  arm  to  conduct  me  to  my  lodgings. 
I  wish  to  talk  of  your  affairs  as  we  go  along. " 

It  is  quite  a  distance  from  the  Rue  du  Pot-de-Fer  St. 
Sulpice  to  the  Rue  de  1'Oreille,  where  the  Hotel  d'Alber- 
gotti  was  situated.  As  they  walked  along  the  Rue  du  Bac 
and  the  quays,  we  would  not  vouch  for  the  fact  that  Belle- 
Rose  did  not  pronounce  twice  or  thrice  the  name  of  Su- 
zanne ;  but  Claudine  turned  aside  the  conversation  from 
this  dangerous  ground  and  brought  it  back  to  things  more 
in  conformity  with  her  humor. 

"When  shall  I  see  you  again?"  Belle-Rose  asked  his  sis- 
ter, on  leaving  her  in  front  of  the  hotel. 

"Day  after  to-morrow,  if  you  wish.  At  eleven  o'clock, 
I  shall  be  at  the  Porte  St.  Honore." 

"Well,  I  shall  be  there  at  ten." 

Belle-Rose  had,  thanks  to  his  sister,  forgotten  the  note 
mysteriously  slipped  into  his  hand.  His  first  care,  imme- 
diately on  his  return  to  the  worthy  Monsieur  Meriset's, 
was  to  learn  the  contents  of  it.  He  found  only  these 
words : 

"Next  Saturday,  Belle-Eose  will  meet,  an  hour  after  sunset,  at  the 
Porte-Gaillon,  a  person  who  will  say  to  him  the  words  agreed  upon; 
let  him  follow  this  person,  and  he  will  arrive  where  Monsieur 
d'Assonville  sends  him." 

He  recollected  then  that  this  was  the  day  on  which  he 
was  to  wait  for  his  sister  at  the  Porte  St.  Honore.  For  a 
moment  he  thought  of  writing  to  her  to  take  back  his 
promise ;  but,  like  a  well-informed  man,  he  understood 
that  matters  could  be  arranged.  To  his  sister  he  would 
give  the  day ;  to  the  affairs  of  Monsieur  d ' Assonville  the 
evening.  Belle-Rose  was  punctual  at  the  rendezvous ;  his 
sister  and  he  mounted  a  fiacre  and  took  their  way  to 
Neuilly.  After  having  vainly  sought  a  lodging  at  the 
Porcherons,  which  a  company  of  musketeers  had  invaded, 
Belle-Rose,  just  as  the  fiacre  was  passing  over  the  cause- 
way, heard  a  voice  which  called  him  by  name.  He  leaned 
toward  the  portiere,  and  saw,  at  the  window  of  a  cabaret, 
a  gentleman  saluting  him  who  held  a  glass  of  champagne 
in  his  hand. 

"Good  luck  to  you,  Belle-Rose!"  said  he. 


A  FKIEND  AND  AN  ENEMY.  71 

"Who  is  that  gentleman?"  Claudine  asked  her  brother, 
who  had  bowed  his  head. 

"Monsieur  de  Villebrais,  my  lieutenant." 

After  having  driven  about  some  time  in  the  environs, 
Belle-Kose  and  his  sister  made  the  fiacre  deviate  from  the 
main  road.  There  was  at  the  end  of  a  meadow  a  house,  be- 
fore which  some  beautiful  trees  extended  their  shade;  this 
house  had  the  appearance  of  a  farm-house.  Hoping  that 
in  this  out-of-the-way  place  dinner  could  be  served  to 
them,  Belle-Rose  ran  to  it,  leaving  his  sister  some  distance 
away. 

As  he  was  returning,  beating  the  bushes  with  a  cane 
which  he  held  in  his  hand,  he  heard  frightened  cries,  in 
which  his  own  name  was  mixed.  He  hurried  on  and  saw 
Claudine  struggling  in  the  hands  of  a  cavalier.  In  a 
bound,  Belle-Rose  had  reached  them. 

"Eh!  parbleu!  come  on,"  exclaimed  the  cavalier.  "You 
•will  aid  me  to  make  this  pretty  child  understand  that  I 
am  not  a  peasant." 

The  cavalier  had  not  finished  his  phrase,  when  Belle- 
Rose,  snatching  Claudine  from  his  arms,  placed  himself 
between  them. 

"Monsieur  de  Villebrais,"  said  he,  "this  child  is  my  sis- 
ter." 

"Your  sister?  Word  of  honor, 'tis  charming.  You  are 
very  spiritual,  Belle-Rose. ' ' 

"My  lieutenant!" 

"Your  sister?  Does  one  ride  about  with  one's  sister?  I 
have  a  sister,  too,  but  she  is  at  the  convent,  my  dear  sir." 

"Monsieur  de  Villebrais,  I  have  told  you  the  truth.  Clau- 
dine  " 

" Ah !  her  name  is  Claudine,  your  cousin  or  your  mis- 
tress ;  both,  perhaps.  It  is  a  pretty  name,  altogether  in 
the  pastoral  taste.  Say,  then,  my  charmer,  if  you  wish 
my  heart,  I  offer  it  to  you ;  it  is  vacant  for  twenty-four 
hours. ' ' 

Belle-Rose  barred  the  way  to  Monsieur  de  Villebrais ; 
but  it  was  out  of  the  question  to  make  a  man  hear  reason 
who  had  dined  altogether  too  well.  Turning,  then,  to  the 
coachman,  who  was  looking  on  philosophically,  he  cried  to 
him  to  turn  his  team  in  the  direction  of  Paris.  The  chev- 
alier immediately  threw  a  purse  at  the  coachman's  feet. 

"Count  that  money,  rascal,"  he  said  to  him,  "and  when 
you  have  finished,  whistle  your  most  beautiful  airs." 

The  coachman  picked  up  the  purse,  sat  down  upon  a 
block  of  stone,  and  began  to  count.  He  had  not  reached 


72  A  FRIEND  AND  AN  ENEMY. 

the  third  crown  -when  he  whistled  with  all  his  strength. 
Claudine  looked  wildly  turn  by  turn  at  the  coachman,  her 
brother,  and  the  chevalier. 

"That  is  an  intelligent  coachman,"  said  Monsieur  de 
Villebrais.  "Be  not  less  amiable  than  he,  my  friend;  your 
mistress  is  pretty  and  pleases  me ;  for  three  or  four  hours 
you  have  been  wandering  around  together.  Each  in  his 
turn,  get  you  away  from  here. ' ' 

Belle-Eose  looked  at  Monsieur  de  Villebrais.  The  chev- 
alier was  strongly  animated,  but  his  legs  were  still  steady, 
Ms  voice  clear,  his  gestures  easy ;  the  sergeant  was  not 
dealing  then  with  a  drunken  man,  but  with  a  headstrong 
officer.  The  quarrel  then  became  more  grave. 

"Come,  my  dear  sir,  have  you  understood?"  said  the 
chevalier.  "Turn  about,  run  to  the  Porcherons,  ask  for 
the  cabaret  of  the  Pomme  de  Pin,  and  dine  freely  at  my 
expense. ' ' 

'My  lieutenant,  I  shall  not  go." 

'You  wish  to  remain." 

'Yes." 

'Ah !  scoundrel,  do  you  forget  who  I  am?" 

'On  the  contrary,  I  wish  to  recollect  it." 

'Ah!  you  jest.    I  will  cut  off  your  ears." 

'I  do  not  believe  it/' 

Monsieur  de  Villebrais  raised  his  arm,  and  Belle-Rose 
seized  it. 

"What!  you  dare  touch  me,  rascal?  I  am  going  to  give 
you  a  sword  thrust  in  the  stomach,"  exclaimed  Monsieur 
de  Villebrais,  who,  losing  all  control  of  himself,  made  an 
effort  to  free  his  hand  and  take  his  sword ;  but  Belle-Rose 
pushed  him  back  so  quickly  that  he  tottered  over. 

Before  he  could  arise,  the  sergeant  had  already  drawn 
his  sword. 

The  coachman  had  stopped  counting,  but  he  was  still 
whistling. 

"Monsieur  de  Villebrais,  I  swear  to  you  that  you  will 
only  reach  my  sister  after  having  passed  over  my  dead 
body!"  exclaimed  Belle-Rose. 

"I  will  not  fight  with  you,  but  will  get  you  hung,  "re- 
plied the  lieutenant.  "Eh!  coachman, "  he  added,  "there 
are  ten  louis  for  you  if  you  aid  this  adorable  girl  to  mount 
in  the  fiacre,  and  ten  more  if  you  take  her  to  the  Pomme 
de  Pin,  where  I  will  soon  rejoin  her." 

Claudine  wished  to  fly,  but  she  tottered  and  fell  upon 
her  knees. 

"Pone,"  said  the  coachman. 


Before  he  could  arise,  the  sergeant  had  already  drawn  his  sword — p.  72 


A  FKIEND  AND  AN  ENEMY.  73 

"Not  yet!"  exclaimed  some  one  near  by,  and  at  the 
same  moment  an  unknown  man  made  his  appearance. 

He  was  a  handsome  young  fellow,  with  a  firm  and  can- 
did expression  of  countenance.  His  costume,  void  of  rib- 
bons and  embroidery,  gave  him  the  appearance  of  a  stu- 
dent, but  he  had  the  bearing  and  the  sword  of  a  gentle- 
man. 

"What  did  you  say?"  interposed  Monsieur  de  Villebrais, 
"and  in  what  are  you  mixing?" 

"I  said  what  I  wished,  and  I  mix  in  the  affairs  of  others 
when  it  pleases  me,"  the  unknown  gravely  replied. 

Upon  a  gesture  from  the  lieutenant,  the  coachman,  who 
was  hesitating  since  the  unexpected  intervention  of  the 
cavalier,  advanced  toward  Claudine.  He  had  not  made  two 
steps  when  the  hand  of  the  unknown  was  placed  upon  his 
shoulder. 

"Listen,'  ae  said  to  him.  "This  gentleman  has  prom- 
ised you  ten  louis  to  carry  mademoiselle  to  the  Porcherons. 
I  promise  you  a  hundred  stripes  across  your  back  if  you 
do  not  take  her  to  yonder  farm-house ;  but  Twill  join  my 
invitation  to  that  of  monsieur  to  ask  you  to  aid  her  to 
mount  the  fiacre.  Do  you  understand?" 

"Quite  well,"  said  the  coachman,  who  felt,  from  the 
manner  in  which  the  cavalier's  hand  was  placed  upon  his 
shoulder,  that  there  was  no  objection  to  make  to  a  man  so 
full  of  eloquence  and  vigor.  A  new  conviction  had  just 
penetrated  his  mind,  and  like  a  zealous  neophyte  he  ran 
to  open  the  portiere,  wishing,  by  his  zeal,  to  demonstrate 
the  warmth  of  his  conversion. 

"Enter,  mademoiselle,"  said  the  unknown,  presenting 
his  hand  to  Claudine;  "I  answer  to  you  for  the  good  senti- 
ments of  this  honest  coachman.  Am  I  right,  friend?" 

"You  do  me  too  much  honor,"  replied  the  coachman, 
who  rubbed  his  shoulder  as  he  closed  the  portiere. 

The  intervention  of  the  stranger  had  been  so  rapid,  ac- 
tion had  so  promptly  followed  words,  that  Monsieur 
de  Villebrais  and  Belle-Rose  had  remained  mute  specta- 
tors of  this  scene.  But  when  Claudine  sat  down  in  the 
fiacre,  Monsieur  de  Villebrais  felt  all  his  anger  blaze  up 
again.  He  rushed  upon  Belle-Rose,  sword  in  hand,  and 
made  such  a  furious  thrust  that  it  would  have  pierced  him 
through  and  through,  if  Belle-Rose,  at  the  noise  of  his 
steps,  had  not  thrown  himself  to  one  side.  The  blade 
ripped  the  sergeant's  clothes  and  glided  along  his  shoul- 
der; but  thanks  to  the  quickness  of  his  movement,  the 
flesh  was  untouched, 


74  A  FRIEND  AND  AN  ENEMY. 

"You  practice  assassination  also,  monsieur?"  said  the 
stranger,  while  the  coachman  urged  on  his  horses  in  the 
direction  of  the  farm-house  with  an  unparalleled  ardor. 

Monsieur  de  Villehrais  grew  pale  at  this  insult. 

"On  guard,  monsieur!"  he  exclaimed,  in  a  voice  choking 
•with  fury,  and  he  rushed  upon  the  unknown. 

"You  forget  me,  I  believe,"  said  Belle-Rose,  and  in  a 
bound  he  was  between  the  lieutenant  and  the  stranger. 

"If  your  adversary  would  give  way  to  rue,"  said  the  lat- 
ter, without  even  touching  the  guard  of  his  sword,  "I 
should  willingly  consent  to  do  you  the  honor  to  measure 
swords  with  you,  monsieur ;  but  I  will  call  your  attention 
to  the  fact  that  you  owe  him  the  preference. " 

"Fight  with  a  clown,  never!" 

"Nevertheless  you  will  have  it  to  do." 

"And  who  will  force  me  to  do  so?"  said  Monsieur  de  Vil- 
lebrais, disdainfully. 

"I,  who  am  ready  to  strike  you  upon  the  cheek  with  the 
flat  of  my  sword,  if  you  hesitate." 

Monsieur  de  ViUebrais  bit  his  lips  till  the  blood  came. 

"Listen,  then,  monsieur,"  continued  the  stranger  ,  in 
the  same  tone  and  without  appearing  more  moved  than  if 
it  were  a  question  of  a  supper.  "When  one  passes  from 
rape  to  murder  with  such  a  surprising  facility,  some  un- 
pleasantness must  be  expected.  The  trade  is  not  altogether 
a  profitable  one." 

The  shame  of  the  action  which  he  had  committed,  and 
the  rage  inspired  in  Monsieur  de  Villebrais  by  these  words, 
triumphed  over  the  pride  of  blood. 

"So  be  it,  "he  replied.  "I  will  fight  with  this  clown, 
and  it  shall  be  your  turn  afterward. ' ' 

"Willingly,  if  necessary." 

Monsieur  de  Villebrais  was  already  trying  the  ground 
with  bis  foot,  when  the  stranger  resumed: 

"Since  you  yield  to  my  observations  with  such  a  lauda- 
ble complaisance,  permit  me,  monsieur,  to  address  you  a 
new  one.  This  is  not  a  suitable  place  to  fight.  We  run  the 
risk  of  being  disturbed,  which  is  always  disagreeable.  I 
see  down  yonder  a  little  clump  of  trees  which  would  do 
marvelously  well  Does  it  please  you  to  go  there?" 

"Come,"  replied  Monsieur  de  Villebrais. 

The  three  young  men  entered  the  grove,  and  the  two 
adversaries  crossed  blades  immediately.  Monsieur  de  Vil- 
lebrais fought  like  a  man  who  wishes  to  kill  and  neglected 
none  of  the  resources  of  fencing.  But  he  was  dealing  with 
a  man  as  determined  as  he  and  more  skillful.  At  the  third 


A  FRIEND  AXD  AX  ENEMY.  75 

pass  Monsieur  de  Yillebrais  was  disarmed.  Belle-Rose 
broke  guard, 

"Tell  me,  monsieur,  that  you  regret  all  this,  and  I  will 
think  no  more  about  it,"  he  exclaimed. 

Monsieur  de  Yillebrais  had  already  picked  up  his  sword  ; 
without  making  any  answer,  he  again  fell  on  guard.  Belle- 
Rose  had  recovered  enough  sang-froid  to  recollect  that  the 
man  whom  he  was  facing  was  an  officer.  He  would  have 
preferred,  then,  to  confine  himself  to  parrying,  but  Mon- 
sieur de  Yillebrais  pushed  him  so  roughly  that  he  was 
forced  to  give  thrust  for  thrust  The  clashing  of  steel  ani- 
mated him,  and  a  thrust  which  scratched  him  succeeded 
in  making  him  lose  all  circumspection.  Two  minutes 
after  his  sword  penetrated  the  breast  of  Monsieur  de  Yil- 
lebrais. Monsieur  de  Yillebrais  wished  to  return  the 
thrust,  but  the  blade  escaped  from  his  hand,  a  stream  of 
blood  mounted  to  his  lips,  and  he  fell  upon  his  knees.  The 
stranger  raised  him  and  leaned  hi™  against  a  tree. 

"It  may  be  that  he  win  not  get  over  it,  monsieur,"  said 
he  to  Belle-Rose;  "begin  by  leaving;  we  win  arrange  the 
affair  after." 

"This  man  is  my  lieutenant,"  replied  Belle-Rose,  his 
reddened  sword  in  hand. 

"Ah,  diable!"  said  the  unknown;  "it  means  that  you 
are  in  danger  of  being  shot.  Leave  all  the  more  quickly, 
then." 

"And  my  sister?" 

"I  answer  for  her." 

"You  swear  it" 

"Here  is  my  hand.*' 

The  hands  of  the  two  young  men  met  in  &  fraternal 


"Leave,"  said  the  stranger,  "and  count  upon  me." 

"You  have  aided  my  sister,  monsieur.  Your  name,  I 
pray  you,  in  order  that  I  may  know  to  whom  my  gratitude 
is  due." 

"My  name  is  Cornelius  O'Brien,  and  I  am  from  the 
county  of  Armagh,  Ireland." 

"I  am  from  St.  Omer,  in  Artois,  and  my  name  is  Jacques 
Grinedal,  otherwise  called  Belle-Rose,  sergeant  of  sappers 
in  the  regiment  of  La  Ferte.  " 

"Well,  Belle-Rose,  you  have  a  friend.  Honest  men  know 
each  other  at  a  glance." 

Belle-Rose  once  more  pressed  the  hand  of  the  Irishman 
and  went  away.  The  shades  of  evening  were  beginning  to 
extend  themselves  over  the  country  when  he  left  the 


76  A  DAUGHTEE  OF  EVE. 

grove.  The  recollection  of  the  rendezvous  which  awaited 
him  at  the  Porte  Gaillon  suddenly  returned  to  his  mind. 
His  personal  safety  required  that  he  should  leave  in  all 
haste  before  the  rumor  of  his  duel  had  spread.  But  Mon- 
sieur d'Assonville  had  his  word. 

Belle-Rose  went  straight  to  the  Porto  Gaillon.  He  had 
scarcely  been  there  five  minutes,  when  he  saw  arrive  a 
small  young  man  enveloped  in  a  Spanish  cloak.  A  gray 
felt  hat,  ornamented  with  a  heron  feather,  shaded  his 
forehead ;  the  lower  part  of  his  face  was  concealed  by  a 
fold  of  the  cloak.  On  seeing  Belle-Rose,  the  young  page 
walked  rapidly  toward  him,  and  said,  in  low  tones : 

"The  Castilian  is  waiting." 

"I  am  your  man,"  replied  Belle-Rose. 

The  page  threaded  a  somber  alley,  walked  for  some  min- 
utes, and  then  blew  a  small  whistle  attached  to  his  neck 
by  a  silver  chain.  At  this  signal,  a  carriage  arrived  at  the 
carrefour  where  the  page  had  stopped ;  he  jumped  in  and 
made  a  sign  to  Belle-Rose  to  mount  after  him.  The  por- 
tiere was  closed  upon  them,  and  the  carriage  moved  off. 


CHAPTER  X. 

A  DAUGHTER  OF  EVE. 

Scarcely  had  Belle-Rose  seated  himself  in  the  carriage, 
when  his  guide  lowered  the  silk  curtains  and  threw  him- 
self in  a  corner.  The  carriage  rolled  on  for  an  hour  or 
two.  It  appeared  to  Belle-Rose  that  it  was  leaving  Paris 
and  plunging  into  the  country,  but  it  was  impossible  for 
him  to  recognize  over  what  roads  it  was  passing,  or  what 
direction  it  was  following.  His  companion  remained  im- 
movable and  silent  in  his  corner.  All  at  once  the  carriage 
stopped,  a  lackey  opened  the  portiere,  and  the  page,  leap- 
ing to  the  ground,  invited  Belle-Rose  to  descend.  They 
found  themselves  in  a  solitary  place  surrounded  by  great 
trees.  The  night  was  dark,  but  in  the  distance  there  was 
seen  shining,  between  the  foliage,  a  light  as  immovable  as 
a  star.  The  page  entered  a  path,  and  Belle-Rose  followed 
him.  The  light  disappeared  and  reappeared  turn  by  turn ; 
the  wind  sighed  and  filled  with  melancholy  noises  the 
somber  mass  of  forest.  In  proportion  as  the  travelers  ad- 
vanced, the  path  contracted  and  was  embarrassed  by 
branches  touching  the  soil.  The  brilliancy  of  the  light 


A  DAUGHTEE  OF  EVE.  77 

kept  on  increasing;  each  step  drew  them  nearer  to  it. 
Soon,  between  the  trunks  of  elms  and  birches,  Belle-Rose 
distinguished  the  wavering  outlines  of  a  house,  but  at  the 
same  moment  he  saw,  as  in  a  dream,  two  black  shadows 
pass  and  disappear  behind  some  holly  bushes.  A  little  far- 
ther on  the  two  shadows  drew  near  the  path.  Dry  twigs 
snapped  under  the  pressure  of  invisible  feet.  Belle-Rose 
looked  at  his  guide.  He  seemed  to  have  seen  and  heard 
nothing.  The  presence  of  this  mysterious  escort  suddenly 
recalled  to  Belle-Rose  the  last  words  of  Monsieur  d'Asson- 
ville ;  he  thrust  his  hand  under  his  cloak ;  when  he  had  as- 
sured himself  that  his  poniard  was  still  in  its  place,  he 
seized  the  guide's  arm. 

"What  do  you  want  with  me?"  the  latter  asked. 

"Nothing." 

"Why,  then,  do  you  take  me  by  the  arm?" 

"It  is  an  idea  of  mine." 

"And  if  it  did  not  please  me  to  suffer  it?" 

"I  should  be  grieved,  but  you  would  have  to  submit  to 
it." 

"Do  you  know,  Monsieur  Belle-Rose,  that  if  I  called,  we 
are  not  so  far  from  the  carriage  that  I  could  not  be  heard." 

"I  even  believe  that  you  would  not  have  to  call  very 
loud  in  order  to  be  heard." 

The  guide's  hand  trembled  in  that  of  the  sergeant. 

"But  I  warn  you  that  at  the  least  cry  and  the  least  effort 
to  release  yourself,  I  shall  plant  this  poniard  in  your 
breast,"  continued  Belle-Rose. 

The  guide  saw  the  pale  lightning  of  the  steel  shine  at 
two  inches  from  his  face.  He  shivered. 

"Supposing  I  do  not  wish  to  advance,"  he  rejoined. 

"Then  we  should  turn  back;  but  as  this  new  resolution 
would  prove  to  me  that  I  ought  to  remain  in  your  com- 
pany I  would  ask  you  to  turn  back  with  me." 

"You  are  mad !   Do  you  fear  then  to  be  assassinated?" 

"Not  at  all.  But  my  maxim  is  always  to  do  things  in 
company  with  some  one.  You  live  more  gaylythus;  you 
ought  to  die  less  sadly,  too." 

The  guide  fixed  his  brilliant  gaze  upon  Belle-Rose's  face, 
on  which  was  painted  that  firm  and  calm  resolution  par- 
ticularly characteristic  of  him. 

"Go  ahead!"  said  the  guide;  and  they  continued  to  ad- 
vance toward  the  light. 

This  light  shone  at  a  window — the  only  one  open — in  a 
species  of  hut  lost  in  the  depth  of  the  woods.  The  guide 
knocked  at  a  door  which  opened  at  once.  Belle-Rose  and 


78  A  DAUGHTER  OF  EVE. 

he  penetrated  a  corridor  at  the  end  of  \vhich  their  feet  en- 
countered a  stair-way.  The  door  closed,  the  light  disap- 
peared, and  they  mounted  the  steps.  At  the  top  of  this 
stair-way,  the  guide  lifted  a  curtain,  and  both  found  them- 
selves at  the  entrance  of  a  room  wonderfully  decorated. 
The  silken  folds  of  rich  hangings  covered  the  walls ;  a  car- 
pet deadened  the  sound  of  footsteps;  the  furniture  was  in- 
laid with  copper  and  mother-of-pearl ;  upon  a  brocatel  sofa, 
crowned  by  a  canopy,  a  woman  clothed  in  a  velvet  dress 
red  as  scarlet  was  half  reclining;  her  naked  arms  were 
lost  in  floods  of  lace,  and  her  hand,  whiter  than  a  jas- 
mine flower,  softly  waved  a  fan  with  green  feathers.  A 
mask  concealed  her  face.  No  look  could  penetrate  either 
form  or  contour,  and  yet  whosoever  had  seen  this  woman 
thus  reclining  would  have  divined  that  she  was  radiantly 
beautiful.  At  some  steps  from  the  sofa  were  two  f auteuils ; 
Belle-Rose  and  his  guide  sat  down  in  them,  on  a  sign  from 
the  lady  with  the  black  mask.  A  lamp  shaded  by  an  ala- 
baster globe  diffused  its  white  light  over  the  hangings  of 
purple  silk ;  its  pale  rays  were  broken  at  the  corners  of 
the  polished  furniture,  upon  the  carvings  of  the  candelabra, 
with  their  thousand  crystal  facets,  and  the  arrangement  of 
light  augmented  the  magic  appearance  of  this  place  which 
was  embalmed  by  the  perfumes  emanating  from  invisible 
scent-  boxes. 

"You  call  yourself  Belle-Eose?"  said  the  lady  to  the 
falconer's  son. 

"Yes,  madame." 

"And  you  come  on  the  part  of  Monsieur  d'Assonville?" 

"He  must  have  informed  you  of  the  fact." 

"Have  you  known  him  a  long  time?" 

"My  father  was  his  father's  servitor." 

"His  servitor!    You  belong,  then,  to  his  family?" 

"I  am  a  soldier,  and  Monsieur  d'Assonville  has  at  times 
done  me  the  honor  to  call  me  his  friend." 

"Ah!"  said  the  lady,  with  an  accent  of  surprise  mixed 
with  disdain. 

Then  she  continued: 

"Do  you  know  nothing  of  the  causes  which  led  Mon- 
sieur d'Assonville  to  send  you  to  me?" 

"Nothing." 

"How  can  you  assure  me  of  it?" 

"My  word." 

"Your  word!"  said  she,  shaking  her  fan. 

She  did  not  add  a  syllable,  but  it  was  impossible  to  mis- 
take the  expression  of  her  voice. 


A  DAUGHTEll  OF  EVE.  79 

"Those  who  believe  in  falsehood  practice  it,"  Belle-Rose 
boldly  said. 

The  unknown  trembled  but  did  not  reply,  and  addressed 
herself  to  Belle-Rose's  guide,  expressing  herself  in  a  for- 
eign tongue. 

"Eh!  madame,  I  cannot!"  replied  the  guide,  in  French. 

"Who  hinders  you." 

"The  soldier,  who  has  maintained  his  hold  on  me  the 
whole  length  of  the  path  and  still  maintains  it." 

"It  is  a  whim  which  I  pardon  him,  but  which  is  going  to 
finish  this  moment." 

Belle-Rose  made  no  reply,  but  his  fingers  did  not  for  a 
moment  cease  to  clasp  the  wrist  of  the  guide. 

'Well!  did  you  hear  me?"  said  the  impatient  lady. 
'Perfectly;  but  why  should  I  do  what  you  desire?" 
'Because  I  wish  it." 

'That  is  a  pretext  at  most,  and  I  ask  for  a  reason." 
'Insolent!"  exclaimed  the  unknown  lady,  springing  to 
her  feet.     "Do  you  know  that  if  I  called,  there  are  arms 
near  here  disposed  to  force  you  to  obey  and  to  punish  you 
afterward?" 

"I  believe  it,  madame;  but  at  the  first  cry,  at  the  first 
gesture,  I  shall  stretch  this  guide  dead  at  your  feet." 

The  fair  unknown  drew  back  at  the  sight  of  the  poniard 
suspended  above  the  breast  of  the  page. 

"And  when  he  is  dead,  the  others  will  see  that  they  are 
dealing  with  a  resolute  man  who  is  not  easy  to  overcome. 
Call  now!"  repeated  the  sergeant. 

"Do  not  do  it,  madame;  he  would  kill  me  as  he  says," 
exclaimed  the  guide. 

"Ah!  you  are  courageous,  it  appears,"  said  the  masked 
woman.  "I  thank  Monsieur  d'Assonville  for  having  sent 
me  such  a  valiant  ambassador." 

"And  I  thank  him  for  having  chosen  me  for  a  mission 
in  which  arms  must  intervene  in  the  midst  of  a  discourse. 
Monsieur  d'Assonville  did  not  deceive  me." 

"What!  is  it  indeed  he  who  caused  you  to  take  this  pon- 
iard?" she  exclaimed,  in  an  indignant  voice. 

"Was  he  wrong,  madame?" 

The  unknown  lady  trembled  at  this  question  coldly  pro- 
pounded, and  Belle-Rose  saw  her  neck  purpled  by  a  sud- 
den blush.  She  again  seated  herself  upon  the  sofa  and  ap- 
peared to  gaze  attentively  at  him. 

"Let  us  cut  short  this  debate,  "she  softly  said.  "If  I 
give  you  my  word  that  nothing  shall  be  done  to  you,  will 
you  release  that  page?" 


80  A  DAUGHTER  OF  EVE. 

"He  is  free,  madame.  You  have  doubted  my  word;  I 
will  not  insult  you  by  doubting  yours." 

Belle-Rose's  hand  opened,  and  the  page  stepped  quickly 
to  his  mistress'  side. 

"He  is  a  bold  and  handsome  young  fellow,  truly!"  ex- 
claimed the  lady.  "Upon  my  soul,  here  is  a  young  soldier 
whom  the  captain's  epaulettes  would  become  marvelously. 
Frank  and  firm  as  steel." 

The  voice  of  the  unknown  charmed  Belle-Rose  like  the 
sonorous  vibrations  of  a  harp.  He  listened  to  it  still  after 
she  had  ceased  speaking,  and  his  heart  had  the  mysterious 
revelation  of  the  boundless  love  which  this  woman  ought 
to  inspire,  and  the  irremediable  misfortune  which  ought 
to  result  from  her  relinquishment.  He  had  just  under- 
stood the  mute  despair  of  Monsieur  d'Assonville. 

"Belle-Rose,  wait,"  she  resumed;  "you  will  be  free  in  a 
moment." 

The  masked  lady  and  the  page  spoke  in  low  tones  for 
some  minutes;  then  the  latter,  approaching  a  small  ebony 
table  upon  which  was  some  paper,  presented  a  pen  to  his 
mistress,  who  wrote  a  letter,  folded  it,  placed  it  in  an  en- 
velope, impressed  a  ring  which  she  wore  upon  her  finger 
upon  the  burning  wax  and  extended  the  dispatch  to  Belle- 
Rose. 

"Here  is  my  reply,  remit  it  promptly  to  Monsieur  d'As- 
sonville, and  forget  everything — even  the  road  which  you 
have  taken  to  come  here.  But  if  some  day  men  fail  you, 
strike  boldly  at  the  door  in  the  Rue  Cassette  and  give  your 
name;  a  woman  will  recollect." 

Belle-Rose  bowed  over  the  hand  of  the  fair  unknown 
and  took  the  letter,  touching,  as  he  did  so,  the  end  of  a 
perfumed  glove  with  his  lips. 

"May  God  preserve  you,  handsome  cavalier!"  said 
she,  and  casting  a  last  glance  at  Belle-Rose,  she  disap- 
peared behind  a  curtain. 

"Are  you  coming?"  said  the  page,  as  Belle-Rose,  dazzled 
by  that  glance  and  shivering  at  those  words,  remained  im- 
movable before  the  large  folds  of  the  purple  damask. 

Belle-Rose  trembled,  and  full  of  agitation,  followed  the 
guide.  They  descended  the  steps,  traversed  the  forest 
without  seeing  any  shadow  this  time,  and  mounted  within 
the  carriage.  The  page  lowered  the  blinds,  and  two  hours 
after  the  carriage  stopped  at  the  entrance  of  the  Rue  de 
Vangirard.  A  lackey  opened  the  portiere,  Belle-Rose  de- 
scended, and  the  equipage  left  at  a  gallop.  When  Belle- 
Rose  reached  the  corner  of  the  Rue  du  Pot-de-Fer  St.  Sul- 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  EVE.  81 

pice,  the  honest  Monsieur  Meriset  was  in  great  trouble. 
The  worthy  proprietor  had  not  gone  to  bed.  His  lamp, 
ordinarily  extinguished  about  nine  o'clock,  was  still  burn- 
ing two  hours  after  midnight,  and  standing  behind  his 
half-closed  blinds,  he  cast  anxious  looks  into  the  shadows 
of  the  street. 

"Ah!  Monsieur  Belle-Rose,  what  a  burden  you  lift  from 
me!"  said  he  to  the  sergeant.  "I  feared  you  were  dead." 

"I  am  not  so  yet,  but  I  may  be  at  any  time." 

"Do  not  speak  in  that  lugubrious  fashion;  at  the  pres- 
ent hour  it  is  rather  risky  to  use  such  language." 

"Is  it,  then,  to  assure  yourself  that  lam  indeed  alive 
that  you  have  waited  for  me?" 

"It  is  also  for  handing  you  this  paper  which  a  gentle- 
man has  left  after  having  come  twice.  He  has  urgently 
insisted  on  its  being  given  only  to  you,  assuring  me  that  it 
was  very  important." 

While  Monsieur  Meriset  was  speaking,  Belle-Rose  opened 
the  epistle  and  read  these  words  by  the  light  of  the  pro- 
prietor's candle  : 

"Monsieur  de  Villebrais  is  not  dead,  though  he  is  not  in  a  condition 
to  rise  soon,  if  he  ever  does;  he  has  spoken,  and  the  secret  of  your 
meeting  has  been  confided  to  people  who  undoubtedly  have  given 
orders  for  your  arrest.  Your  only  hope  is  to  fly,  and  the  sooner  the 
better.  Quit  Paris,  and  count  upon  me,  whatever  happens. 


Belle-Rose  was  expecting  this  news.  He  burned  the  note 
without  showing  any  agitation,  and  drawing  from  his 
pocket  a  well-plenished  purse,  he  asked  Monsieur  Meriset 
if  he  did  not  know  some  honest  person  whom  he  could 
charge  with  a  delicate  commission. 

"I  have  my  nephew,  Christopher  Meriset,  a  clever  fel- 
low and  as  mute  as  a  confessional.  " 

"You  answer  for  him." 

"He  is  my  heir." 

"Then  I  confide  to  him  this  letter  to  carry  and  also 
another  which  I  am  going  to  write  to  a  captain  of  light- 
horse  garrisoned  at  Arras." 

"He  will  carry  them. 

"Without  delay?" 

"In  an  hour." 

Belle-Rose  wrote  to  Monsieur  d'Assonville  to  inform  him 
of  what  he  had  seen  and  what  events  prevented  his  carry- 
ing in  person  the  reply  of  the  unknown  lady.  Immediately 
after  the  arrival  of  Nephew  Christopher,  he  handed  him 


82  THE  LIGHTING  OF  A  PASSION. 

the  two  letters,  \vith  a  recommendation  to  diligence;  then 
leaving  Monsieur  Meriset  a  note  for  his  sister  Claudine,  he 
imparted  to  him  the  necessity  of  his  going  away. 

"Ah!  my  God!  will  you  not  return?"  said  the  landlord. 

"I  will  return,  and  I  pray  you  to  keep  my  room  for  me 
along  with  these  ten  louis,  which  will  be  yours  if  I  am 
not  back  in  fifteen  days.  I  will  only  ask  you  to  say  noth- 
ing, either  of  what  you  have  seen  or  of  my  departure,  if 
perchance  some  curious  person  question  you." 

"I  understand,"  said  Monsieur  Meriset,  who  scented  un- 
der this  mystery  an  affair  of  state,  "I  understand  and  will 
be  silent." 

Belle-Rose  undressed,  put  on  some  clothes  belonging  to 
Nephew  Christopher,  armed  himself  with  a  stick,  and 
quitted  the  Rue  du  Pot-de-Fer  St.  Sulpice. 

"It  is  to  Monsieur  de  Naucrais  I  owe  my  sergeant's  hal- 
berd," he  said  to  himself;  "it  is  to  him  I  shall  return  it." 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE  LIGHTING  OF  A  PASSION. 

At  daybreak  Belle-Rose  found  himself  already  three  or 
four  leagues  beyond  St.  Denis,  upon  the  route  to  Flanders. 
The  country  smiled  in  the  white  light  of  the  morning,  and 
joyous  girls  passed  singing  along  the  road.  Around  Belle- 
Rose  all  was  light  and  gayety ;  within  all  was  gloom  and 
sadness.  He  had  lost  his  sweetheart,  he  had  just  lost  his 
liberty,  he  was  going,  undoubtedly,  to  lose  his  life.  His 
heart  swelled  under  this  wave  of  bitter  thoughts.  He  had 
struggled,  he  was  conquered.  But  the  voice  of  his  con- 
science did  not  reproach  him  About  noon  he  stopped  in  a 
species  of  cabaret ;  he  had  taken  nothing  since  the  even- 
ing before  The  landlady,  a  petulant  young  woman,  cooked 
an  omelette  in  a  turn  of  the  hand. 

"You  are  just  in  time,  my  boy,"  she  said  to  him.  "A 
quarter  of  an  hour  later,  and  you  would  have  run  tho  risk 
of  no  longer  finding  either  egg-shells  or  a  crust  of  bread. 
Where  the  police  pass  nothing  remains." 

"Ah!"  said  Belle-Rose,  "you  are  expecting  the  police  of 
the  king?" 

"Half  a  dozen  rascals  who  are  as  thirsty  as  sand  and  hun- 
gry as  dogs.  But  here  they  are  advancing  from  the  end  of 
the  plain.  Do  you  see  them,  with  their  muskets  upon  their 
shoulders?" 


THE  LIGHTING  OF  A  PASSION.  83 

"Very  well!  they  are  hunting  some  malefactor,  no 
doubt?" 

"Ah,  yes!  the  country  might  be  pillaged,  and  they 
would  pay  no  attention  to  it.  They  are  searching  for  a 
poor  soldier. ' ' 

"A  soldier?" 

"Some  deserter,  so  a  brigadier  has  told  me.  It  is  a  ques- 
tion of  a  young  man  almost  of  your  build,  blonde  like  you, 
lithe  and  vigorous  as  you  seem  to  be. ' ' 

The  landlady  ceased  speaking  to  gaze  at  Belle-Rose.  A 
flash  of  suspicion  lit  up  her  eyes.  Belle-Rose  started,  threw 
some  money  on  the  table,  and  made  toward  the  door.  The 
butt-end  of  a  musket  struck  the  pebbles.  The  landlady 
rushed  to  the  fugitive. 

"Chut!"  she  rapidly  whispered  to  him,  "I  have  under- 
stood nothing,  guessed  nothing,  but  do  not  advance.  A 
foot  in  the  road,  and  you  are  a  dead  man.  Enter  that  cab- 
inet; I  am  going  to  occupy  them  with  my  best  wine.  If 
they  do  not  see  you,  they  will  leave  in  an  hour,  and  you 
will  be  saved.  If  they  see  vou,  dame!  there  is  the  win- 
dow." 

Belle-Rose  threw  himself  into  the  neighboring  hall  just 
as  the  door  of  the  cabaret  opened. 

"The  sky  is  an  oven  and  the  road  is  a  gridiron!"  said 
the  soldier,  on  entering. 

"So  that  you  have  an  outrageous  thirst,"  replied  the 
landlady.  "Take,  then,  and  drink,"  she  added,  placing  a 
pitcher  of  wine  upon  the  table. 

Those  who  came  by  way  of  the  plain  entered  at  the  same 
moment.  The  majority  of  them  threw  their  hats  and  mus- 
kets upon  the  benches  and  sat  down  around  the  table.  The 
landlady  passed  and  repassed  through  the  cabinet,  which 
had  an  outlet  into  the  kitchen. 

"They  are  drinking,"  she  said,  quite  low,  to  Belle-Eose. 

"All  of  them?" 

"All  except  one." 

Belle  Rose  opened  the  window. 

At  the  landlady's  third  trip,  a  soldier  followed  her. 

"Leave  me  alone  and  finish  your  dinner,"  said  she. 

"No,  your  arms  are  too  beautiful." 

"If  they  are  beautiful,  they  are  strong;  so  take  care  of 
your  cheeks." 

"Eh!  eh!"  said  the  soldier,  on  perceiving  Belle-Rose, 
"we  are  not  alone!  The  company  frightens  love.  Eh, 
friend,  turn  round  slightly,  so  we  can  see  you." 

Belle-Rose  trembled  at  the  sound  of  this  voice,  which 


84  THE  LIGHTING  OF  A  PASSION. 

was  not  unknown  to  him.  He  placed  one  hand  upon  the 
window,  turned  round,  and  recognized  Bouletord,  who  had 
passed  from  the  artillery  to  the  police,  where  he  had  val- 
iantly won  the  lace  of  a  brigadier. 

"Belle-Rose!"  he  exclaimed.  "Eh!  eh!  comrade,  we  have 
an  old  account  to  settle.  You  are  my  prisoner. ' ' 

"Not  yet, "  said  Belle-Rose,  placing  his  foot  upon  the 
window. 

Bouletord  rushed  toward  him,  but  a  furious  blow  of  the 
fist  stretched  him  out  on  the  floor,  and  in  a  bound  Belle- 
Rose  crossed  the  window.  At  the  brigadier 'scries,  the  po- 
lice ran  up,  but  by  a  singular  inadvertence,  in  wishing  to 
aid  Bouletord,  the  landlady  had  pushed  back  the  sash  cov- 
ered with  red  curtains,  so  that  the  view  of  the  country  and 
the  fugitive  was  obstructed. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  the  soldiers  asked. 

Bouletord,  without  replying,  seized  a  musket,  opened 
the  window,  and  fired.  The  ball  knocked  off  the  bark  of 
a  willow  ten  steps  from  Belle- Rose. 

"Poor  fellow!"  said  the  landlady,  "how  he  runs!" 

"Make  haste!"  Bouletord  cried  to  his  men.  "It  is  our 
deserter.  If  he  escapes  he  robs  us  of  ten  louis. " 

The  police  took  up  the  pursuit  of  the  fugitive,  but  they 
were  embarrassed  by  their  shoulder-straps,  and  Belle-Rose 
gained  ground.  From  the  window  at  which  she  was  lean- 
ing, the  landlady  assisted  at  this  improvised  chase.  In- 
stead of  a  stag,  it  was  a  man  who  was  being  run  down. 

"How  he  goes!"  she  said,  in  alow  tone,  all  the  while 
following  the  episodes  of  this  race,  and  without  suspect- 
ing that  she  was  speaking  aloud.  "See  him  traversing  the 
clover  of  Pere  Benoit.  Good !  he  leaps  the  ditch.  He  has 
the  legs  of  a  squirrel,  that  boy !  Ah !  there  is  a  soldier 
stretched  out ;  he  has  struck  his  foot  against  a  stump,  the 
awkward  fellow!  and  another;  this  one  has  got  entangled 
in  the  scabbard  of  his  saber.  The  deserter  is  already  far 
away;  he  will  certainly  escape  them.  Ah!  my  God!  the 
brigadier  stops  a  marsh-gardener ;  he  takes  his  horse,  gets 
astride  of  it,  pricks  it  with  the  point  of  his  sword,  and 
leaves  at  a  gallop.  The  brigadier  remembers  that  blow  of 
the  fist!  Another  soldier  imitates  him,  then  still  another. 
Three  soldiers  on  horseback  against  one  man  on  foot !  He 
is  lost !  Ah !  he  has  heard  them ;  see  him  entering  the 
plowed  land — he  is  far  from  being  a  fool !  The  horses  are 
heavy ;  they  will  sink  in.  Well !  they  are  already  going 
less  quickly.  And  he?  the  poor  fellow  flies  like  a  partridge; 
he  leaps  the  streams.  Hold !  where  does  he  wish  to  go? 


THE  LIGHTING  OF  A  PASSION.  85 

Ah !  he  has  thought  of  the  woods,  and  he  is  quite  right ! 
He  approaches,  he  reaches  them,  he  enters — has  disap- 
peared!" 

When  Belle-Rose  had  penetrated  the  woods,  he  ran  for 
some  minutes  still — ran  till  he  no  longer  heard  the  noise 
of  the  horses  galloping  upon  the  edge.  He  then  took  to 
one  side,  made  a  hundred  steps,  and  hid  himself  in  a 
thicket.  Bouletord  and  his  two  acolytes  arrived ;  at  this 
place  the  paths  forked.  The  brigadier  took  to  the  right, 
the  soldiers  took  to  the  left,  and  three  minutes  after  the 
noise  of  their  course  was  lost  in  the  distance.  Belle-Rose, 
secure  in  that  direction,  and  wishing  to  avoid  the  pursuit 
of  the  police  on  foot,  who  would  not  fail  to  search  the 
woods,  again  ran  straight  before  him  through  the  un- 
derbrush. He  ran  against  a  wall  and  crossed  it.  At  the 
end  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour  he  found  himself  upon  the 
border  of  an  avenue  which  was  divided  by  a  stream, 
across  which  a  bridge  had  been  thrown.  A  gate  closed  it 
on  one  side,  a  large  chateau  rose  up  at  the  other  end. 
Belle-Rose  looked  forth ;  he  saw  nothing,  heard  nothing. 
Decidedly  the  police  had  lost  their  way.  He  entered  the 
avenue  and  walked  toward  the  chateau.  He  had  scarcely 
mada  twenty  steps,  when  he  perceived  some  distance  away 
a  lady  on  horseback  and  behind  her  a  servant  in  livery. 
The  lady  appeared  to  be  reading  a  letter  which  the  lackey 
no  doubt  had  just  handed  her.  From  the  foam  which 
whitened  his  bit  and  his  neck,  one  might  believe  that  the 
valet's  horse  had  completed  a  long  journey,  while  that  ot 
the  lady,  frisky  and  mettlesome,  seemed  impatient  to  be 
going.  The  lady,  who  appeared  young  and  beautiful,  had 
scarcely  finished  her  reading  when,  crumpling  the  letter 
in  her  hand,  she  applied  a  vigorous  stroke  of  the  whip  to 
her  horse ;  the  horse,  surprised,  gave  a  bound  and  left  like 
an  arrow.  His  mistress  uttered  a  cry,  the  valet  threw 
himself  forward,  but  he  could  not  seize  the  bridle  of  the 
horse,  who  fled  down  the  avenue.  He  was  going  to  thread 
the  bridge  thrown  across  the  stream,  when  a  branch, 
driven  by  the  wind,  got  entangled  in  his  legs.  The  horse, 
frightened,  leaped  upon  the  bank  of  the  river,  which  was 
very  steep  at  this  place.  His  hind  feet  were  on  the  edge, 
and  the  least  faux  pas  might  precipitate  him  into  the  deep 
water  which  laved  the  arches  of  the  bridge.  Belle-Rose 
saw  the  peril  at  a  glance.  He  leaped  upon  the  bank,  seized 
the  horse  by  the  bit,  and  jerked  him  to  one  side.  The  lady, 
paler  than  a  corpse,  sprang  from  the  saddle,  and  Belle- 
Rose  and  the  smoking  courser  rolled  upon  the  grass.  Belle- 


86  THE  LIGHTING  OF  A  PASSION. 

Rose  heard  only  one  cry,  and  fainted.  When  he  came  to 
himself,  he  was  extended  upon  a  sofa  in  a  large  and  mag- 
nificently furnished  room.  His  first  act  was  to  carry  his 
hand  to  his  forehead ;  a  keen  pain  answered  the  contact  of 
his  fingers. 

"Yes,  yes,  you  are  wounded!  It  would  have  only  taken 
half  an  inch  more  for  the  horse's  hoofs  to  strike  your 
temple.  Adonis  has  been  adroit  in  his  awkwardness. ' ' 

Belle-Rose  looked  to  see  who  was  speaking,  and  recog- 
nized the  lady  whom  he  had  just  drawn  from  so  great  a 
peril.  He  wished  to  raise  himself  to  thank  her  for  the  care 
which  she  had  taken  of  him. 

"Keep  still, "  said  she,  "you  are  not  in  condition  to 
move  with  the  wound  in  your  head  and  the  bleeding 
which  your  arm  has  undergone." 

Belle-Rose  only  then  perceived  that  his  left  arm  was 
surrounded  with  bandages.  He  smiled  and  again  fixed 
his  eyes  upon  the  lady  who  was  seated  before  him  in  a 
large  fauteuil.  Her  riding  habit,  torn  in  three  or  four 
places,  was  stained  with  blood ;  she,  too,  carried  her  arm 
in  a  sling,  and  her  streaming  hair  fell  in  long,  brown 
tresses  around  her  face,  where  shone  wondrously  beauti- 
ful eyes.  In  the  midst  of  the  confused  sensations  agitating 
his  soul,  it  seemed  to  the  young  officer  that  it  was  not  the 
first  time  the  sound  of  that  voice  had  struck  his  ear ;  but 
he  could  not  recall  either  in  what  place  or  under  what  cir- 
cumstances he  had  heard  it.  As  to  the  lady's  face,  it  was 
altogether  unknown  to  him.  She  answered  Belle-Rose's 
smile  by  another  smile ;  but  there  was  something  bitter 
and  disdainful  in  the  movement  of  her  lips  which  robbed 
them  of  their  grace. 

"I  understand,"  said  she;  "you  have  felt  nothing, 
neither  the  fall,  nor  the  kick,  nor  the  removal  to  the 
chateau  upon  a  litter,  nor  the  bleeding,  nor  the  bandag- 
ing. A  pretty  woman  would  not  have  fainted  better." 

Belle-Rose  blushed  slightly. 

"But, "  continued  the  lady,  "you  fell  from  the  clouds, 
then,  when  you  so  brusquely  seized  hold  of  Adonis?" 

Belle-Rose  had  forgotten  everything.  The  lady's  ques- 
tion made  him  recollect.  He  saw  again,  at  the  same  time, 
his  duel,  his  departure,  his  flight,  and  was  silent,  measur- 
ing in  thought  the  solitude  and  misfortune  into  which  his 
life  had  just  been  plunged. 

"Oh!  I  do  not  ask  you  for  your  secret,"  continued  his 
interlocutrix.  "You  have  saved  my  life — the  least  that  I 
can  do  for  you  is  to  let  you  preserve  silence.  But,  upon 


THE  LIGHTING  OF  A  PASSION.  87 

my  soul,  the  man  who  has  come  near  causing  my  death, 
after  having  killed  Monsieur  de  Villebrais,  has  now  a 
double  account  to  settle  with  me." 

Belle-Rose  gazed  at  the  lady  in  astonishment.  She  was 
frowning,  her  lips  were  contracted,  and  from  her  cheeks  a 
feverish  blush  had  just  chased  the  pallor. 

"Monsieui  de  Villebrais!"  exclaimed  Belle-Rose,  raising 
himself  slightly. 

"Do  you  know  him?"  said  the  unknown. 

"An  officer  in  the  artillery?"  added  the  wounded  man. 

"Precisely.  An  officer  in  the  artillery  whom  I  was  ex- 
pecting at  the  chateau ;  his  murderer  has  fled ;  but  I  know 
well  how  to  reach  him  wherever  he  conceals  himself." 

"It  is  then  his  life  you  wish,  madame?" 

"Certainly!  after  the  crime,  tha  punishment." 

"Take  it,  then!"  exclaimed  Belle-Rose,  "for  I  am  he 
whom  you  seek." 

"You!  but  you  have  struck  him  from  behind!" 

"I  struck  Monsieur  de  Villebrais  in  front,  sword  clash- 
ing sword,  and  if  I  have  struck  him,  'tis  because  he  had 
insulted  a  woman." 

"Somegrisette!" 

"My  sister,  madame." 

"Eh !  what  matters  it  to  me?  What  difference  makes  it 
though  it  was  your  sister?" 

"Madame!"  exclaimed  Belle-Rose,  "I  have  delivered  my 
life  to  you,  but  I  have  not  delivered  to  you  the  honor  of 
my  family.  Have  me  killed,  if  you  like,  but  do  not  insult 
me." 

Belle-Rose  was  standing ;  an  extraordinary  emotion  ani- 
mated his  countenance,  and  over  his  pale  forehead  filtered 
some  drops  of  blood ;  the  brilliancy  of  his  eyes,  the  au- 
thority of  his  gesture,  the  bold  expression  of  his  voice, 
awed  the  unknown  lady.  She  who  seemed  accustomed  to 
command,  hesitated,  her  eyes  fixed  upon  that  young  face 
full  of  strength  and  resolution.  She  felt  moved  even  to 
the  depth  of  her  heart,  and  was  astonished  to  no  longer 
find  movement  or  speech  to  answer  the  daring  youth  who 
dominated  her. 

Seeing  her  silent,  Belle-Rose  forgot  his  indignation ;  a 
sweet  smile  passed  over  his  colorless  lips,  and  bowing 
with  a  grace  full  of  simplicity,  he  said : 

"Pardon,  madame,  I  was  defending  my  sister  against 
your  anger,  but  I  abandon  the  brother  to  your  vengeance." 

The  eyes  of  the  unknown  lady  softened ;  she  quivered 
all  over,  and  murmured,  in  a  voice  inexpressibly  sweet: 


88  THE  LIGHTING  OF  A  PASSION. 

"Young,  brave,  and  handsome— all  at  the  same  time!" 

Then  she  continued,  smilingly : 

' '  You  are  too  much  in  the  right  for  Monsieur  de  Ville- 
brais not  to  be  a  little  in  the  wrong." 

It  would  be  difficult  to  account  for  the  profound  joy 
which  expanded  in  the  heart  of  Belle- Rose.  It  certainly 
was  not  born  of  the  hope  of  escaping  an  inevitable  con- 
demnation ;  he  had  determined  to  go  and  seek  it  himself. 
Was  it  not  rather  occasioned  by  the  interest  which  the 
fair  unknown  seemed  to  take  in  him?  Belle-Rose  alone 
would  have  been  able  to  explain  the  nature  of  his  sensa- 
tions, and  they  were  still  too  confused  for  him  to  think  of 
analyzing  them. 

"Monsieur  de  Villebrais  is  nevertheless  a  good  swords- 
man?" said  the  lady,  following  with  the  eyes  upon  the 
face  of  Belle-Rose  the  reflection  of  his  fugitive  thoughts. 
"You  are  then  very  redoubtable,  sword  in  hand?" 

"I  had  right  on  my  side,  madame. " 

"If  you  defend  a  sister  so  valiantly,  what,  then,  would 
you  do  for  a  mistress?" 

"I  would  do  my  best." 

"Then  she  whom  you  love  will  be  well  guarded." 

At  these  words,  which  recalled  Suzanne  to  him,  Belle- 
Rose  blushed.  The  lady  took  notice  of  it. 

"Ah!  you  love!"  said  she,  casting  a  rapid  glance  at  the 
wounded  man. 

At  this  moment  a  waiting  woman  entered  the  apart- 
ment. On  seeing  Belle-Rose  she  trembled ;  but  the  un- 
known lady,  making  the  gesture  of  throwing  back  the 
tresses  of  her  hair,  placed  her  finger  upon  her  lips. 

"The  carriage  which  madame  asked  for  is  ready,"  said 
the  waiting  woman. 

The  duchess  was  about  to  depart.  Belle-Rose  wished  to 
salute  her,  but  the  effort  which  he  had  just  made  in  rising 
had  exhausted  his  strength ;  he  tottered  and  leaned  upon 
the  back  of  a  fauteuil  to  keep  from  falling. 

"Monsieur  de  Villebrais  is  dying,"  said  the  waiting  wo- 
man to  her  mistress,  speaking  low. 

The  duchess  had  advanced  toward  the  door ;  on  turning 
back  to  throw  a  last  look  at  Belle-Rose,  she  saw  the  livid 
pallor  extending  over  his  forehead,  which  was  moistened 
by  a  tiny  stream  of  blood.  With  a  haughty  gesture,  she 
dismissed  the  waiting  woman  and  rushed  to  him. 

"I  remain,"  said  the  duchess. 


THE  DKEAMS  OF  A  SUMMER  DAY.  89 

CHAPTER  XII. 

THE  DREAMS  OP  A  SUMMER  DAY. 

For  some  days  Belle-Rose  remained  concealed,  a  prey  to 
a  burning  fever;  the  strength  of  his  constitution  and  the 
vigor  of  his  will  had  at  first  succeeded  in  making  the  evil 
appear  less  than  what  it  was ;  but  he  was  finally  forced 
to  give  way  to  the  violence  of  the  reaction  which  took 
place  in  him.  His  body  and  mind  were  no  longer  able  to 
offer  any  resistance.  Very  often,  while  the  delirium  made 
numberless  dreams  pass  through  his  imagination,  he 
thought  he  saw,  leaning  over  his  bed,  a  woman's  face 
half  vailed  by  long  ringlets  of  hair.  Then  he  called  Su- 
zanne in  a  voice  broken  by  sobs,  and  his  parched  lips  were 
glued  to  white  hands  which  were  abandoned  to  his  kisses. 
But — strange  thing! — in  those  hours  when  the  love  of 
Belle-Rose  was  inflamed  by  all  the  fires  of  fever,  the  face 
of  the  unknown  was  turned  aside,  and  all  her  body  trem- 
bled like  a  branch  shaken  by  the  wind.  A  day  came  on 
which  the  patient  was  able  to  cast  a  more  tranquil  look 
around  him.  The  silence  was  profound.  In  the  transparent 
shadows  of  a  room  where  the  light  was  intercepted  by 
silken  hangings,  a  woman,  surrounded  by  the  long  folds 
of  a  white  dress,  was  seated  in  a  fauteuil.  A  scarcely  fin- 
ished dream  floated  still  before  the  eyes  of  Belle-Rose ;  he 
extended  his  arms  to  the  deceitful  image  of  his  sweet- 
heart, and  his  mouth  murmured  softly  the  name  of  Su- 
zanne. 

"I  am  not  Suzanne,"  said  the  stranger. 

Belle-Rose  propped  himself  up  on  his  elbow  and  looked 
at  her.  The  vail  in  which  fever  had  imprisoned  his  soul 
disappeared  like  those  vapors  of  the  morning  which  are 
extinguished  by  the  first  beams  of  the  sun.  Belle-Rose 
recognized  the  duchess.  A  smile  soft  and  sad  illuminated 
her  countenance. 

"It  was  you?"  said  he. 

"It  is  a  friend  whom  you  did  not  call  and  who  watched 
over  you,"  replied  the  duchess.  "But  do  not  question  me 
yet.  I  have  orders  to  impose  silence  on  you.  Obey." 

The  duchess  placed  a  finger  upon  her  lips  and  softly 
forced  the  soldier  to  lie  down  again.  But  she  herself  was 
the  first  to  forget  the  instructions  which  she  had  charged 
herself  with  seeing  executed. 


90  THE  DREAMS  OF  A  SUMMER  DAY. 

"Then  you  love  this  Suzanne?"  said  she,  with  a  slight 
trembling  of  the  voice. 

A  sudden  blush  covered  Belle-Hose's  cheeks. 

"Have  I  named  her?"  he  exclaimed.  "Oh,  rnadame,  par- 
don my  delirium." 

"Eh!  monsieur,  I  do  not  ask  you  for  excuses,  but  an 
avowal." 

With  anger,  the  sonorousness  of  her  voice  had  returned. 
Lightning  flashed  in  the  duchess'  eyes,  and  her  nostrils 
quivered.  Belle-Rose,  half  raised  upon  his  elbow,  gazed 
at  her  for  a  minute ;  calm  and  serene  before  this  ill-re- 
strained anger,  he  said,  with  the  simplicity  of  a  Christian 
confessing  his  faith : 

"Yes,  madam e,  I  love  her." 

The  eyes  of  the  duchess  were  lowered  under  the  glance 
of  Belle-Hose ;  she  let  her  head  fall  upon  her  breast,  and 
if  the  doubtful  light  of  the  room  had  permitted  the 
wounded  young  man  to  gaze  upon  that  bowed  face,  he 
would  have  seen  a  tear  glide  over  her  cheek  like  a  drop  of 
dew  over  polished  marble. 

"Is  she  your  betrothed?"  said  she,  in  a  voice  so  weak 
that  it  passed  like  a  murmur  between  the  pale  and  trem- 
bling lips. 

"No,"  said  Belle-Rose,  sadly,  "she  is  a  friend  whom 
I  have  lost." 

The  duchess'  glance  was  illuminated  by  a  brilliant  ray ; 
then,  with  her  forehead  supported  on  her  hand,  she  kept 
silent.  The  Duchesse  de  Chateaufort  was  then  in  all  the 
splendor  of  her  beauty.  Tall,  slender,  with  an  admirably 
formed  waist,  her  whole  person  offered  a  happy  mixture 
of  grace  and  dignity ;  she  possessed  naturally  that  easy 
walk,  that  noble  carriage,  and  that  grand  air  for  which 
the  ladies  of  the  court  of  Louis  XIV.  were  renowned 
through  all  Europe.  The  warmth  of  the  Spanish  blood, 
which  she  derived  from  her  mother,  was  betrayed  in  the 
humid  sparkle  of  her  limpid  and  radiant  eyes,  in  the  mute 
appeal  of  her  purple  lips,  in  the  undulating  movements  of 
her  supple  body,  in  the  caresses  of  her  voice  filled  with 
pure  and  velvety  sounds.  Madame  de  Chateaufort  trans- 
formed herself  like  a  fairy,  and  under  the  great  lady  often 
shone  the  enchantress.  She  knew  how  to  give  her  mouth, 
of  a  proud  and  disdainful  contour,  the  suave  outline  of  an 
ingenuous  smile ;  the  pale  transparence  of  her  cheeks,  of 
her  neck,  of  her  shoulders,  was  at  times  illuminated  by 
rosy  tints,  as  reddens  the  snow  under  a  kiss  from  the  sun. 
This  divine  statue  grew  animated  under  the  lightning  of 


THE  DKEAMS  OF  A  SUMMER  DAY.  91 

passion ;  and  like  the  antique  goddess,  she  appeared  to 
the  charmed  eyes  resplendent  with  life,  youth,  and  love. 
Madame  de  Chateaufort  passed  for  one  of  the  most  influ- 
ential women  belonging  to  the  court  of  the  young  king ; 
her  husband,  governor  of  one  of  the  provinces  in  the 
south  of  France,  complacently  left  her  at  Paris,  where  he 
could  hope  everything  from  his  wife's  credit.  In  return 
for  this  influence,  Monsieur  de  Chateaufort  accorded  to 
the  duchess,  his  wife,  a  liberty  which  she  made  full  use 
of.  There  was  between  them  a  sort  of  tacit  compromise 
whose  clauses  were  loyally  executed.  To  him  titles,  honor, 
dignities ;  to  her  luxury,  pleasures,  independence.  At  the 
epoch  of  which  we  speak,  such  associations  as  these,  con- 
secrated by  the  sacrament  of  marriage,  were  tolerated, 
perhaps  even  authorized  in  morals,  and  no  one  thought  of 
speaking  ill  of  their  consequences.  Those  who  made 
Madame  de  Chateaufort's  conduct  the  subject  of  their 
conversations  did  not  think  of  blaming  her ;  young  people 
cultivated  her  acquaintance  because  they  were  flattered  to 
know  her,  others  on  account  of  their  ambition  At  the 
time  Madame  de  Chateaufort  met  Belle-Rose,  the  rumor 
of  her  amour  with  Monsieur  de  Villebrais  began  to  spread 
at  court.  The  refined  ones  were  astonished  and  sought  the 
cause  of  it;  the  old  lords,  who  had  made  war  under 
Madame  de  Chevreuse  and  Madame  de  Longueville,  did 
not  worry  themselves  about  a  small  thing  like  that. 

"It  is,  because  it  is,"  said  they.  "Does  any  one  know 
why  the  wind  blows?" 

But  that  which  no  one  doubted  was  that  the  reign  of 
Monsieur  de  Villebrais  had  seen  its  last  hour ;  from  its 
dawn  to  its  twilight,  this  amour  had  only  been  a  flash. 
The  noble  pride,  the  calm  and  reflective  audacity  of  Belle- 
Rose,  had  surprised  Madame  de  Chateaufort;  his  youth, 
his  good  looks,  had  touched  her.  Under  the  dress  of  a 
soldier,  she  had  just  recognized  the  language  and  senti- 
ments of  a  gentleman ;  never  had  so  much  isolation  and 
resolution  appeared  under  the  grave  and  charming  figure 
of  a  young  man.  Belle-Rose  had  revealed  himself  to 
Madame  de  Chateaufort  in  the  midst  of  circumstances 
which  were  attached  to  an  epoch  of  her  life  which  she 
could  never  forget ;  he  had  shown  himself  filled,  at  the 
same  time,  with  hardihood  and  noble  confidence ;  he  had 
saved  her  life  and  had  offered  her  his  own  in  exchange; 
around  his  youth  shone  the  aureole  of  a  mysterious  love. 
Is  it  surprising  that  curiosity,  astonishment,  interest,  a 
thousand  confused  and  inexplicable  sensations,  had  de- 


92  THE  DUEAMS  OF  A  SUMMER  DAY. 

tained  Madame  de  Chateaufort  near  the  bleeding  form  of 
Belle-Rose?  When  she  had  remained,  she  forgot  Monsieur 
de  Villebrais,  and  when  she  had  forgotten  the  officer,  she 
loved  the  soldier.  But  this  new  love  did  not  triumph  over 
her  pride  without  a  struggle.  Twenty  times  a  rebel  against 
the  tender  and  tumultuous  sentiments  which  this  passion 
born  of  accident  raised  in  her  heart,  she  wished  to  break 
the  chain  which  kept  her  at  the  bedside  of  the  patient, 
but  an  hour's  absence  soon  brought  her  back  more  in- 
flamed and  more  submissive  than  ever.  She  was  no  longer 
the  imperious  woman  with  whom  words  were  commands, 
who  chose  in  the  crowd  of  courtiers,  and  who  knew  how 
to  remain  free  and  mistress  of  herself  even  in  her  going 
astray.  She  loved,  and  the  disdain  of  her  soul  was  lost  in 
the  breath  of  a  tenderness  as  infinite  as  unexpected. 
Leaning  over  the  bed  to  which  fever  bound  Belle-Rose,  she 
listened  to  his  delirium,  her  heart  bounding  at  each  word, 
and  let  flow,  without  seeing  them,  the  tears  to  which  she 
was  no  longer  accustomed.  When  the  convalescence  came, 
Madame  de  Chateaufort  enlivened  its  first  days  by  her  as- 
siduous presence  and  the  thousand  enchantments  of  her 
mind;  and  the  first  time  Belle-Rose  passed  the  threshold 
of  his  room,  she  made  him  lean  on  hsr  arm.  Belle-Rose 
still  loved  Madame  d'Albergotti,  but  we  must  acknowledge 
also  that  he  willingly  leaned  on  the  arm  of  Madame  de 
Chateaufort.  True  that,  for  nothing  in  the  world  would 
he  have  wished  to  betray  her  to  whom  all  his  soul  had 
been  given ;  but  at  the  least  rustling  of  a  satin  dress  glid- 
ing over  the  sand  of  the  paths,  all  the  secret  dreams,  all 
the  confused  desires  of  his  youth  fled  to  Madame  de  Cha- 
teaufort. His  love  for  Madame  d'Albergotti  was  pure  and 
calm  like  a  lake  shaded  by  willows ;  he  saw  the  bottom  at 
the  first  glance,  and  his  heart  drew  from  it  a  tender  mel- 
ancholy which  left  to  his  dreams  their  certainty  and  their 
limpidity ;  but  at  the  sight  of  Genevieve  de  Chateaufort, 
all  his  soul  was  troubled,  a  strange  tumult  took  place  in 
his  mind,  he  felt  mount  to  his  lips  a  thousand  burning 
words,  looked  wildly  at  her,  and  fled,  no  longer  knowing 
whether  love  was  that  profound  and  sincere  worship  which 
he  vowed  to  the  name  of  Suzanne,  or  the  delirium  which 
was  lit  by  the  presence  of  Genevieve.  Nevertheless  he  re- 
mained, and  like  those  travelers  slumbering  under  the 
odoriferous  foliage  of  the  Antilles  which  conceals  poison 
in  its  perfumes,  he  no  longer  had  the  strength  to  shake  off 
the  intoxicating  sleep  produced  by  a  nascent  passion. 
Belle-Rose  had  not  the  liberty  of  leaving  the  park,  but 


THE  DREAMS  OF  A  SUMMER  DAY.  93 

in  its  extent,  sprinkled  with  gardens  and  patches  of  wood, 
he  wandered  at  hazard ;  only  he  did  not  wander  alone.  In 
the  eyes  of  the  servants  at  the  chateau,  he  passed  for  a 
gentleman,  as  he  wore  the  dress  and  sword  of  one,  and 
the  lackeys  invariably  called  him  Monsieur  de  Verval. 
This  name  Madame  de  Chateaufort  had  given  him,  the  bet- 
ter to  conceal  his  identity. 

"That  is  one  way  to  save  Belle-Eose, "  she  had  said. 

Belle-Rose  understood ;  the  lackeys  could  talk  at  their 
ease  of  Monsieur  de  Verval.  Never,  under  the  name  of 
that  gentleman,  would  Bouletord  and  the  police  scent  the 
sergeant  of  artillery.  Madame  de  Chateaufort  absented 
herself  a  short  while  about  this  time,  and  Belle-Hose's  con- 
science began  to  worry  him  over  that  feverish  idleness 
which  attached  him  to  a  woman  when  the  care  of  his  hap- 
piness called  him  to  Laon.  Therefore  he  determined  to 
break  these  new  ties  which  interfered  with  his  liberty. 
Some  words  written  in  haste  informed  Claudine  and  Cor- 
nelius of  the  events  which  had  followed  his  departure 
from  Paris  and  of  the  decision  which  he  had  just  come  to. 
He  confided  his  letters  to  a  lackey,  with  a  request  to  carry 
them  in  all  haste  to  the  residence  of  Madame  d'Albergotti. 
Three  or  four  louis  assured  him  of  the  valet's  diligence; 
and  he  awaited  the  return  of  Madame  de  Chateaufort  in 
order  to  declare  to  her  his  intention  of  leaving  imme- 
diately. The  intervening  time  was  passed  by  him  in  a 
very  restless  manner.  Belle-Rose  knew  that  he  did  not 
have  any  too  much  courage  for  sustaining  the  sight  of 
Genevieve,  and  he  asked  himself  if  it  would  not  be  better 
to  go  away  without  speaking  to  her.  The  fear  of  offending 
her  stopped  him ;  strange  thought  at  the  moment  when  he 
had  decided  to  flee  her  presence  for  good  and  all !  Madame 
de  Chateaufort  returned  very  late  on  this  day ;  midnight, 
had  just  struck  when  the  park  gate  opened,  and  before 
Belle-Rose  could  speak  to  her,  she  had  passed  into  her 
apartments.  The  sergeant  put  off  then  his  declaration  and 
his  departure  till  the  next  day.  Could  any  one  have  de- 
scended to  the  bottom  of  his  heart,  perhaps  it  would  have 
been  discovered  that  he  was  not  too  much  afflicted  by  this 
disappointment.  Madame  de  Chateaufort  and  Belle-Rose 
occupied  a  detached  building  separated  from  the  principal 
one,  which  the  workmen  were  engaged  in  repairing; 
Belle-Rose's  apartment  was  on  the  ground  floor,  that  of 
the  duchess  on  the  first  story.  Both  opened  upon  the  park. 
The  night  was  superb;  numberless  stars,  scattered  like 
gold-dust  over  the  velvet  of  the  sky,  projected  into  space 


94  THE  DREAMS  OF  A  SUMMER  DAY. 

a  trembling  light,  while  the  somber  clumps  of  the  trees  in 
the  park  vailed  the  uncertain  horizon.  Belle- Rose  opened 
the  window  and  bared  his  forehead  to  the  fresh  breezes  of 
the  night;  the  agitation  of  his  thoughts  did  not  permit 
him  to  taste  repose,  and  instead  of  delivering  his  mind  to 
the  dreams  of  sleep,  he  abandoned  it  to  the  dreams  of  love. 
He  had  been  dreaming  for  an  hour  or  two,  when  he  saw 
the  black  curtain  of  trees  illuminated  under  the  red  re- 
flections of  a  sudden  light.  Flames  succeeded  flames,  and 
their  splendor  made  purple  the  sky  where  paled  the  stars. 
Belle-Rose,  astonished,  crossed  his  window-sill  and  turned 
to  the  story  where  Madame  de  Chateaufort  slept. 
A  thousand  flames  were  escaping  through  the  balconies 
where  whirled  streams  of  sparks.  At  the  same  moment 
cries  of  fright  came  from  all  sides,  and  the  women  ser- 
vants of  the  duchess,  surprised  by  the  fire  in  the  midst  of 
their  sleep,  rushed  from  room  to  room,  half-naked ;  full 
of  terror  they  ran  at  hazard,  fleeing  the  flames  which 
crawled  along  the  facades,  devoured  the  hangings,  ex- 
panded like  flaming  plumes  at  the  end  of  the  chimneys, 
and  rolled  like  waves  under  the  propulsion  of  the  wind. 
The  guards  and  lackeys,  awakened  by  the  threatening 
noises  of  the  fire,  armed  themselves  with  ladders  and 
buckets;  all  the  domestics  in  the  chateau  were  on  foot  in 
a  moment  and  ran  to  the  detached  building  on  which  the 
fire  was  preying.  Belle -Rose  was  the  first  to  recognize  the 
imminence  and  extent  of  the  peril ;  the  fire,  communi- 
cated, no  doubt,  to  some  curtain  by  a  neglected  candle, 
ought  to  make  rapid  progress  in  an  apartment  where  the 
carpets,  the  hangings,  the  furniture  heaped  together  lent 
a  thousand  aids  to  its  impetuosity.  A  cry  of  horror  es- 
caped his  lips,  he  rushed  to  the  stair- way,  and  in  a  second 
succeeded  in  gaining  the  story  occupied  by  Madame  de 
Chateaufort.  Fright  lent  him  treble  strength ;  the  first 
door  he  came  across  was  shattered  at  the  first  shock,  and 
he  threw  himself  into  the  hall  filled  with  flames.  The 
maids  passed  by  his  side  like  phantoms.  Belle-Rose  kept 
on  advancing,  a  last  door  fell  under  the  effort  of  his  pow- 
erful hands,  a  whirlwind  of  smoke  and  sparks  enveloped 
him ;  but  he  had  already  seized  in  his  arms  the  body  of  a 
woman  who  was  calling  him.  Then,  more  rapid  than  an 
arrow,  inspired  by  the  precious  burden  reposing  on  his 
breast,  bounding  over  the  blackened  floor,  between  cal- 
cined walls,  down  the  burning  stair-way,  he  crossed  the 
penon  with  the  startling  rapidity  of  a  shadow,  and  fleeing 
the  fire  whose  refulgance  pursued  him,  he  deposited  Gen- 


THE  DREAMS  OF  A  SUMMER  DAY.  95 

evieve  in  a  pavilion  built  upon  the  edge  of  the  park. 
Madame  de  Chateaufort,  half  suffocated,  had  recognized 
Belle-Eose  just  as  the  demolished  door  gave  him  passage. 
The  soldier's  name  died  upon  her  lips,  she  wrapped  her 
arms  around  Belle-Rose's  neck  and  closed  her  eyes,  intox- 
icated with  love  and  fright.  This  fantastic  trip  in  the 
midst  of  the  flames  and  the  sinister  noises  of  the  fire, 
while  she  was  supported  upon  Belle-Rose's  heart,  fascin- 
ated her.  When  Belle-Rose  had  laid  her  upon  the  sofa,  he 
knelt  down  near  her,  and  taking  both  her  hands  in  his,  he 
covered  them  with  tears  and  kisses. 

"Living!  oh,  my  God,  living!"  he  exclaimed. 

Madame  de  Chateaufort  opened  her  eyes;  her  dream 
was  over.  Belle-Rose  parted  Madame  de  Chateaufort's 
floating  hair,  took  her  head  between  his  hands,  gazing  at 
her  with  eyes  aflame  under  tears,  and,  pale  with  love, 
kissed  her  on  the  forehead.  Madame  de  Chateaufort  shiv- 
ered from  head  to  feet ;  her  eyes  closed,  and  her  lips  re- 
turned Belle-Rose's  kiss.  The  soldier  started  to  his  feet, 
tottering  like  a  wounded  man. 

"You  are  saved,"  said  he;  "let  me  go  away." 

Genevieve  started  up  with  a  bound. 

"Go!  you  speak  of  going?"  she  exclaimed. 

"Eh!  madame,  let  it  be  to-day  or  to-morrow,  is  it  not 
necessary  for  me  to  leave  you?" 

The  light  of  the  fire  half  dissipated  the  obscurity  of  the 
pavilion ;  Madame  de  Chateaufort,  beautiful  with  terror, 
drew  round  her  form  the  floating  folds  of  her  dress;  over 
her  naked  shoulders  streamed  the  brown  tresses  of  her 
long  hair,  fever  and  fright  were  painted  in  her  gaze,  an- 
guish and  prayer  upon  her  face.  Never  had  she  appeared 
so  charming  to  the  eyes  of  Belle-Rose ;  the  doubtful  light 
which  surrounded  her  heightened  the  divine  expression  of 
her  beauty.  Vainly  repressed,  the  passion  of  the  soldier 
burst  forth  in  a  cry. 

"You  see  that  I  love  you !  let  me  leave!"  said  he. 

Genevieve  fell  back  upon  the  sofa,  overwhelmed  with 
joy. 

"Had  you  not  guessed  it,  madame?"  said  Belle-Rose;  "I 
love  you  with  the  passion  of  a  madman  and  the  fright  of 
a  child.  But  what  am  I  to  you?  A  poor  soldier  picked  up 
on  the  highway,  a  fugitive,  a  deserter  to  whom  your  pity 
has  offered  an  exile.  And  this  soldier  loves  you — you  who 
are  beautiful,  rich,  powerful,  honored ;  you  are  a  duchess 
of  the  king's  court.  I  have  forgotten  everything,  madame, 
what  I  am  and  what  you  are,  and  I  dare  tell  you  of  it !  In 


96          A  SERPENT  IN  THE  SHADOW. 

order  to  make  me  quits  with  you,  God  has  permitted  me 
to  save  you  once  again.  Now  let  me  leave!" 

Madame  de  Chateaufort  arose  frightened  and  all  in 
tears;  her  eyes  shone  like  two  diamonds. 

"Leave!"  she  exclaimed;  "but  I  love  you!" 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

A  SERPENT  IN  THE   SHADOW. 

Belle-Rose  did  not  leave ;  the  first  link  in  the  strong  and 
burning  chain  of  pleasure  was  riveted  to  his  heart.  He 
trod  a  flowery  path  strewn  with  those  enchantments  which 
are  born  under  the  footsteps  of  beauty,  youth,  and  love. 
In  the  meantime  a  letter  reached  him  from  Cornelius 
O'Brien;  it  informed  him  that  Monsieur  de  Villebrais, 
who,  contrary  to  expectation,  had  recovered  from  his 
wounds,  was  pressing  the  pursuit  of  which  Belle-Rose  was 
the  object;  that  Monsieur  d'Assonville,  after  being  shot 
in  an  engagement  with  some  raiders  on  the  frontier,  had 
just  quitted  his  cantonment ;  it  was  believed  that  he  had 
left  for  Paris  with  the  intention  of  consulting  some  sur- 
geons more  skillful  than  those  of  his  squadron.  As  to 
Claudine,  she  was  in  the  country  with  her  mistress,  whom 
Monsieur  d'Albergotti  had  taken  to  the  Duchess  de 
Longueville's,  with  whom  he  had  been  on  friendly  terms 
in  the  time  of  the  Fronde.  Cornelius  O'Brien  promised  his 
friend  to  find  out  what  steps  Monsieur  de  Villebrais  would 
take,  and  to  inform  him  of  those  particular  ones  which 
might  be  of  interest  to  him.  Belle-Rose  may  have  sighed 
after  he  read  the  letter,  but  perceiving  Madame  de 
Chateaufort  advancing  to  him,  he  no  longer  thought  of  it. 
Belle-Rose  and  Genevieve  often  wandered  over  the  park 
on  each  other's  arms,  sat  down  at  the  most  solitary  places, 
followed  the  shadiest  paths,  and  let  the  day  fade  and  the 
night  begin  without  counting  the  hours.  But  during  the 
last  two  or  three  days  they  found  that  they  were  not 
alone,  no  matter  where  they  were.  A  man  kept  them  un- 
der espionage  in  their  rambles,  and  after  night  came,  fol- 
lowed in  their  footsteps.  Concealed  in  the  thickets  of  the 
park,  he  -watched  for  their  approach  and  seemed  to  be 
waiting,  patient  and  silent  as  a  tiger,  for  a  propitious  hour 
to  carry  out  a  mysterious  design.  At  times,  as  the  two 
lovers  plunged  into  the  obscurest  part  of  the  park,  a  noise 


A  SERPENT  IN  THE  SHADOW.  97 

of  twigs  crushed  under  an  invisible  foot  broke  the  silence. 
Belle-Rose,  accustomed  through  his  watches  around  the 
bivouac  to  take  note  of  the  most  confused  sounds,  turned 
his  head. 

"It  is  a  squirrel  frightened  by  the  noise  of  a  kiss,"  said 
Madame  de  Chateaufort. 

Farther  on,  the  soldier  thought  he  saw,  between  the 
clumps  of  trees,  a  rapid  shadow  fleeing ;  but  before  he 
could  distinguish  its  outline,  the  apparition  had  vanished. 

"You  see  phantoms  and  do  not  see  my  smile, "  said  his 
mistress. 

One  evening  they  came  to  a  part  of  the  park  where  the 
wall  formed  an  angle.  At  the  point  of  the  angle,  under 
some  clusters  of  honeysuckle  and  clematis,  a  door  opened 
upon  the  country.  The  brown  tones  of  stone  and  wood 
were  confounded  under  a  trembling  curtain  of  foliage. 
The  grass  seemed  trampled  around  the  door ;  two  or  three 
broken  branches  hung  along  the  walls. 

"Do  the  guards  make  use  of  this  door?"  asked  Belle- 
Rose. 

"No,  it  is  almost  unknown  to  the  employees  of  the 
chateau." 

"Some  one  has  passed  through  it  nevertheless." 

"No  one  has  the  key  to  this  door,"  replied  Madame  de 
Chateaufort, 

"Look,"  repeated  Belle-Rose,  indicating  with  his  finger 
a  tuft  of  bruised  mallow. 

"Yesterday  we  passed  along  the  wall;  your  hands  were 
in  mine;  do  you  know  where  our  feet  were  placed?" 

Nevertheless  Belle-Rose  was  not  the  plaything  of  an  il- 
lusion. While  Madame  de  Chateaufort  was  dissipating  his 
momentarily  awakened  fears,  Monsieur  de  Villebrais  was 
following  them  from  copse  to  copse.  Dressed  in  common 
clothes,  he  had  taken  lodging,  under  a  borrowed  name,  in 
a  disreputable  inn  in  the  neighborhood,  and  when  night 
came  he  introduced  himself  into  Madame  de  Chateaufort's 
park,  where  the  desire  for  vengeance  called  him.  Aston- 
ished at  the  silence  of  Madame  de  Chateaufort,  who  had 
not  answered  his  letters,  Monsieur  de  Villebrais,  as  soon 
as  he  was  able  to  walk,  had  asked  for  an  interview.  But 
when  Madame  de  Chateaufort  forgot,  she  did  not  half  for- 
get. She  sent  back  then  to  Monsieur  de  Villebrais  the  let- 
ters which  he  had  addressed  to  her,  at  the  same  time  ask- 
ing him  to  return  hers,  and  to  renounce  all  hope  of  ever 
seeing  her  again.  The  lieutenant  of  artillery  knew  the  in- 
fluence of  the  duchess,  he  obeyed  so  as  to  avoid  making  an 


98          A  SEKPENT  IN  THE  SHADOW. 

implacable  enemy ;  but  before  sending  back  the  key  which 
she  herself  had  given  him,  he  had  one  forged  exactly  sim- 
ilar to  it,  promising  himself  to  make  use  of  it  when  the 
occasion  called  for  it.  This  occasion  soon  presented  itself. 
The  seclusion  in  which  Madame  de  Chateaufort  had  been 
living  for  two  or  three  months  began  to  be  remarked  at 
court.  Monsieur  de  Villebrais  ascribed  this  seclusion  to  the 
inconstancy  of  his  mistress,  and  came  to  the  conclusion 
that  a  new  love  dominated  her.  Wishing  to  know  his 
happy  rival,  he  disguised  himself,  left  for  the  residence  of 
Madame  de  Chateaufort,  penetrated  the  park,  and  saw  the 
duchess  pass  on  Belle-Rose's  arm.  At  sight  of  the  soldier, 
Monsieur  de  Villebrais  with  difficulty  restrained  a  cry  of 
rage;  the  man  who  had  insulted  him,  and  who  had  con- 
quered him  sword  in  hand,  had  now  stolen  his  mistress ! 
It  was  too  much  by  half  for  him  to  endure.  For  one  mo- 
ment Monsieur  de  Villebrais  thought  of  rushing  forward, 
and,  arming  himself  with  the  military  authority,  reclaim 
the  deserter ;  but  he  knew  that  the  duchess  was  a  woman 
who  would  never  pardon  such  an  offense,  and  the  fear  of 
being  cut  short  in  his  career  by  her  resentment  stopped 
him.  This  constraint  only  served  to  render  more  keen  his 
desire  for  vengeance.  Not  being  able  to  struggle  openly, 
he  determined  to  wait  and  to  confide  to  his  own  arm  the 
task  of  making  Belle-Rose  pay  at  a  single  stroke  for  all 
the  wounds  which  he  had  received  from  him.  To  better 
enchain  Belle-Rose,  Madame  de  Chateaufort  multiplied, 
the  pleasures  permitted  him  by  a  sojourn  in  the  country. 
The  chase  entered  largely  into  these  pleasures.  One  morn- 
ing, just  as  she  was  preparing  to  mount  on  horseback  to 
hunt  the  stag,  her  waiting  woman  ran  frightened  up  the 
steps  of  the  chateau.  She  held  a  letter  in  her  hand. 

"I  will  read  it  this  evening,"  said  the  duchess. 

The  waiting  woman  stopped  her  as  she  was  setting  foot 
in  the  stirrups,  and  spoke  to  her  in  a  low  tone. 

"What  does  it  matter?"  said  her  mistress,  impatiently. 

And  she  leaped  into  the  saddle.  A  moment  after,  the 
fanfares  sounded  and  the  chase  was  lost  under  the  foliage. 

"  Yes, "  murmured  the  waiting  woman,  "he  is  young, 
handsome,  and  charming ;  but  the  captain  is  at  Paris,  so 
let  him  beware!" 

The  next  day,  while  the  duchess'  women  were  prepar- 
ing her  clothing,  the  absent  hand  of  Genevieve  picked  up 
on  her  toilet  the  disdained  letter  and  opened  it.  At  the 
first  words,  she  grew  pale ;  at  the  last  line  she  uttered  a 
faint  cry  and  trembled  with  agitation. 


A  SEEPENT  IN  THE  SHADOW.  99 

"A  carriage  and  horses!"  she  exclaimed. 

Her  astonished  waiting  women  did  not  move. 

"Do  you  hear  me?"  she  repeated.  "Horses!  this  very 
moment!" 

One  woman,  terrified  by  Madame  de  Chateaufort's  look, 
ran  hastily  out. 

"Where  is  Camille?  Let  her  come,"  she  continued, 
twisting  her  long,  scattered  hair. 

Camille  entered.  At  the  first  glance  she  understood  that 
her  mistress  had  just  received  some  terrible  news;  the 
crumpled  letter  \vas  in  her  hand. 

"When  did  you  receive  this  letter?"  exclaimed  Madame 
de  Chateaufort. 

"Yesterday,  madame, "she  replied;  "yesterday  morn- 
ing." 

"And  it  is  only  to-day  I  get  it!" 

"I  presented  it  to  you  twice,  and  twice  you  repulsed 
me." 

"Could  you  not  constrain  me  to  open  it?" 

"Eh!  madame  he  was  present!"  exclaimed  Camille,  in- 
dicating with  a  gesture  of  inexpressible  eloquence  Belle- 
Rose  passing  through  the  garden. 

"You  did  not  know,"  resumed  Madame  de  Chateaufort, 
in  a  choking  voice  and  with  her  hand  upon  Camille's  arm, 
"you  did  not  know  that  this  letter  was  from  him;  it  is 
dated  yesterday ;  yesterday  he  expected  me,  and  he  has 
sworn  by  the  name  of  his  mother  that  if  he  did  not  see 
me,  he  would  even  come  here!" 

"The  carriage  is  ready,"  a  female  attendant  timidly 
said,  half  opening  the  door. 

Madame  de  Chateaufort  clapped  her  hands  like  a  child, 
and  hastily  seizing  a  mask  and  her  mantle,  she  drew 
Camille  toward  the  door. 

"Come,"  said  she,  "he  is  still  in  Paris,  no  doubt;  noth- 
ing is  lost." 

Belle-Rose,  warned  by  a  lackey  of  Madame  de  Chateau- 
fort's  departure,  took  a  gun  and  plunged  into  the  park. 
Delivered  to  his  meditations  alone,  he  observed  more 
surely  the  indications  which  had  struck  him  in  his  preced- 
ing walks  with  Madame  de  Chateaufort.  A  spy  was  un- 
doubtedly prowling  about  the  park  The  thought  came  to 
him  that  it  might  be  Bouletord,  who,  infuriated  by  his 
discomfiture,  was  seeking  a  means  to  avenge  himself. 
Belle-Rose  resolved  to  immediately  get  rid  of  this  impor- 
tunate personage.  He  went  to  the  chateau,  slipped  into  his 
pockets  a  poniard  and  pistols,  took  a  sword,  waited  for 


100  A  SERPENT  IN  THE  SHADOW. 

night  to  come,  and  gained  the  park,    thoroughly  decided 
to  make  the  visitor  pay  dear  for  his  fatiguing  surveillance. 

"He  is  seeking  a  deserter,"  he  said  to  himself;  "he  will 
find  lead." 

Soon  the  shadows  invaded  the  park;  the  noises  died,  the 
lights  of  the  evening  were  extinguished  one  by  one  in  the 
woods  filled  with  those  mysterious  murmurs  which  mount 
from  earth  to  sky  on  starry  nights.  His  steps  led  him  to 
the  angle  in  the  park  where  the  secret  door  gave  an  outlet 
to  the  country  beyond.  It  was  half  open.  Quite  sure  this 
time,  Belle-Rose  thought  for  a  moment  of  breaking  the 
blade  of  his  poniard  in  the  lock.  His  ear  had  warned  him 
that  already  his  promenade  through  the  park  had  been 
spied.  But  he  reflected  that  his  spy,  concealed,  no  doubt, 
in  some  thicket  close  about,  understanding  by  this  action 
that  he  was  discovered,  would  escalade  the  wall  and  not 
show  himself.  Such  was  not  the  object  of  Belle-Rose.  He 
continued  his  way,  passing  before  the  door  as  if  he  had 
not  seen  it.  At  the  end  of  a  hundred  steps  he  stopped  be- 
hind a  large  oak ;  the  moon  had  just  disappeared  behind  a 
cloud.  He  listened.  After  three  or  four  minutes  of  waiting, 
he  heard  the  door  turn  upon  its  rusty  hinges.  The  shad- 
ows were  thick — he  saw  nothing;  a  noise  of  footsteps 
broke  the  silence  for  a  moment  and  soon  died  out.  The 
soldier  left  his  post  of  observation  and  followed  the  spy, 
taking  care  to  keep  upon  the  edge  of  the  paths  where  the 
thick  grass  stifled  the  noise  of  his  progress.  The  road 
which  the  unknown  followed  ended  at  a  glade  from  which 
several  avenues  radiated ;  one  of  these  avenues  led  to  the 
chateau.  Belle-Rose  and  Genevieve  had  frequently  tra- 
versed it,  and  it  was  the  route  which  they  were  accus- 
tomed to  take  when  they  returned  at  evening.  Belle-Rose 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  the  spy,  fully  informed  as  to 
his  habits,  was  going  to  wait  for  him  at  the  corner  of  the 
avenue  and  there  throw  himself  upon  him.  Thoroughly 
resolved  to  spare  him  the  tedium  of  a  long  waiting,  he  was 
going  to  hasten  his  walk,  when  a  cry  came  from  the  mid- 
dle of  the  glade,  and,  at  the  same  moment,  the  clashing  of 
two  swords  was  heard.  Belle-Rose  rushed  forward,  pistol 
in  hand,  but  he  had  not  made  fifty  steps  when  the  noise 
suddenly  ceased;  the  moon,  emerging  from  the  clouds 
which  vailed  it,  inundated  the  forest  with  light,  and  in 
this  light  Belle-Rose  saw  pass  a  fleeing  man,  who  had  a 
naked  sword  in  his  hand.  He  bounded  like  a  stag  in  pur- 
suit of  him.  The  murderer  glided  like  a  shadow  between 
the  trees  and  seemed  to  have  wings.  Just  as  he  crossed 


THE  AGONY.  101 

the  edge  of  the  wood,  Belle-Rose  fired  his  pistol  at  him, 
but  the  ball  was  lost  in  the  trunk  of  a  birch,  and  the  fugi- 
tive disappeared  through  the  little  door  in  the  park  wall. 
At  the  moment  Belle-Rose  arrived  before  this  door,  the 
gallop  of  a  horse  made  him  understand  that  the  murderer 
was  now  beyond  his  reach.  The  murderer  had  fled,  but  his 
victim  was  undoubtedly  stretched  upon  the  ground  in  the 
glade;  who  was  that  unfortunate  whose  life  cut  short  by 
an  assassination  had  saved  his  own?  Belle-Rose  hastened 
to  the  glade.  A  naked  sword  shone  in  the  grass.  Belle- 
Rose  knelt  down  near  the  body.  The  blood  came  from  two 
gaping  wounds,  one  in  the  throat,  the  other  full  in  the 
breast.  At  sight  of  that  motionless  body,  whose  mournful 
glance  was  turned  toward  heaven,  Belle-Rose  shivered 
from  head  to  foot ;  he  leaned  over,  and  raising  the  victim 
in  his  arms,  he  exposed  his  head  to  the  moon's  pale  rays. 
A  cry  of  horror  burst  from  his  lips — he  had  just  recognized 
Monsieur  d'Assonville. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE  AGONY. 

The  pistol  shot  fired  by  Belle-Rose  had  awakened  some 
guards ;  they  ran  up  and  found  him  whom  they  called 
Monsieur  de  Verval  engaged  in  stanching  the  flow  of 
blood  from  a  man  who  seemed  already  dead,  so  cold  and 
immovable  he  was.  Two  of  them  placed  the  wounded  man 
on  a  litter,  another  ran  to  seek  the  surgeon,  and  Belle- 
Rose,  as  pale  as  Monsieur  d'Assonville,  had  him  deposited 
in  that  same  pavilion  where,  on  the  night  of  the  fire,  he 
had  first  revealed  his  love  to  Madame  de  Chateaufort. 
Some  convulsive  tremblings  alone  indicated  that  Mon- 
sieur d'Assonville  was  not  yet  dead.  The  transporting  of 
him  had  reopened  the  wounds,  and  the  blood  flowed  over 
the  satin  of  the  sofa.  The  grief  of  Belle-Rose  was  calm, 
but  frightful  to  see.  Some  tears  fell  drop  by  drop  from 
his  eyes.  He  who  would  have  sacrificed  his  life  to  save 
Monsieur  d'Assonville,  saw  him  expiring  under  his  eyes 
and  for  him.  Meanwhile  Monsieur  d'Assonville,  however, 
slowly  regained  his  senses ;  light  entered  once  again  his 
eyes ;  powerful  cordials  had  returned  to  the  blood  its  nat- 
ural circulation.  He  turned  his  gaze  toward  the  assembly, 
saw  Belle-Rose,  smiled,  and  extended  him  his  hand.  Belle- 
Rose  took  it  and  fell  upon  his  knees,  blessing  God, 


102  THE  AGONY. 

"I  had  seen  you,  my  friend,"  said  Monsieur  d'Asson- 
ville,  in  very  low  tones,  "but  I  thought  I  was  dreaming. 
At  least  I  shall  not  die  alone!" 

"But  you  will  not  die,  captain!"  exclaimed  the  soldier. 

"Bah!  better  to-day  than  to-morrow;  the  worst  is  over." 

Monsieur  d'Assonville  collected  his  strength  and  suc- 
ceeded in  slightly  raising  himself;  his  cheeks  and  his  lips 
became  purple.  The  surgeon  who  had  arrived  observed 
him  in  silence.  The  man  was  beyond  his  power. 

"I  have  many  things  to  say  to  you,  rny  friend,"  re- 
sumed the  wounded  man;  "it  is  a  sort  of  confession;  to 
aid  me  to  finish  it,  give  me  something  to  drink;  my 
tongue  is  parched  and  my  breast  on  fire." 

Belle-Rose  turned  to  the  surgeon. 

"What  must  I  give  Monsieur  d'Assonville?"  he  said  to 
him. 

"What  he  wishes,  milk  or  whisky." 

Belle-Rose  administered  a  cordial  that  was  at  hand. 

"Lost!"  he  murmured,  in  a  choking  voice. 

"Minutes  are  worth  days,"  said  the  wounded  man.  "See 
to  it  that  we  are  alone." 

Belle-Rose  made  a  sign  of  the  hand,  and  each  one  went 
out. 

"Place  yourself  there,"  said  Monsieur  d'Assonville, 
pointing  out  to  him  a  fauteuil.  "My  voice  is  weak.  I 
should  not  like  to  die  before  having  told  you  all." 

"Will  you  pardon  me,  my  God!"  exclaimed  Belle-Rose; 
"they  have  struck  you,  and  it  is  I  whom  they  sought." 

"You!"  said  Monsieur  d'Assonville,  astonished. 

"Am  I  not  a  deserter?" 

"Bah!  deserters  are  arrested,  not  assassinated.  If  some 
remorse  pursues  you,  calm  your  conscience ;  I  have  recog- 
nized the  enemy — it  is  I  whom  he  was  expecting." 

"You  saw  him !  His  name,  so  that  I  may  at  least  avenge 
you." 

"Avenge  me!  and  why?  Perhaps  it  is  a  service  which  he 
has  rendered  me.  He  was  masked ;  but  in  the  heat  of  the 
action  his  mask  fell.  I  only  saw  him  a  minute,  and  I 
recognized  him.  'Recollect  Monsieur  de  Villebrais!'  he 
exclaimed,  and  fled." 

"Monsieur  de  Villebrais!  It  was  I  whom  he  sought,  I 
tell  you!  Do  you  not  know  that  I  struck  him?"  said  Belle- 
Rose. 

"Does  a  quarrel  of  yesterday  sharpen  a  sword  like  a 
hatred  of  ten  years?  I  have  seen  the  arm — he  assassinated 
by  order." 


THE  AGONY.  103 

Belle-Rose  shivered  from  head  to  foot. 

"Dismiss  this, "  continued  Monsieur  d'Assonville,  with 
a  sad  smile;  "I  arn  dead;  what  difference  does  it  make  by 
whom  and  why  1  am  killed !  Other  thoughts  hesiege  me, 
and  my  mind  is  troubled.  Listen,  before  I  die ;  afterward, 
avenge  me  if  you  wish." 

Belle-Rose  took  Monsieur  d'Assonville's  hand  and 
pressed  it. 

"Do  you  promise  me  to  perform  all  my  last  requests?" 

"I  swear  it." 

"I  counted  on  it.  Monsieur  de  Naucrais,  my  brother,  is 
the  possessor  of  a  letter  addressed  to  you.  I  handed  it  to 
him  on  leaving  the  army. 

"I  was  acquainted  with  your  duel  and  your  disappearance, 
but  I  knew  you  innocent.  My  conscience  answered  to  me 
for  you.  'He  will  return,'  I  said  to  myself,  'and  what  I 
charge  him  with  doing,  he  will  do. '  You  see  that  I  was 
not  deceived." 

A  fit  of  coughing  stopped  Monsieur  d'Assonville;  he  car- 
ried  a  handkerchief  to  his  lips,  and  withdrew  it  stained 
with  a  bloody  foam. 

"My  God!  you  are  killing  yourself!"  exclaimed  Belle- 
Rose. 

"Monsieur  de  Villebrais  has  slightly  aided  me  to  do  so," 
replied  the  captain,  with  a  smile. 

"Put  off  the  rest  of  your  revelation  till  to-morrow;  to- 
morrow you  will  be  more  calm." 

"My  friend,  the  dead  do  not  speak.  If  you  wish  to  hear 
what  I  have  to  say  to  you,  you  must  listen  to  me  to- 
night  " 

A  burning  blush  covered  the  cheeks  of  Monsieur  d'As- 
sonville, and  to  it  succeeded  the  pallor  of  marble.  Fever 
made  his  teeth  chatter.  Belle-Rose  went  from  one  end  of 
the  room  to  the  other,  wringing  his  hands. 

"I  suffer  slightly, "  said  the  captain;  "why  did  he  not 
kill  me  at  the  first  blow?  I  stifle,  and  I  am  always  thirsty, 
give  me  drink " 

Belle-Rose  presented  him  a  cup  filled  with  milk.  The 
captain  drank  a  swallow  of  it. 

"That  is  a  diet-drink  you  are  giving  me!  Have  you  not 
a  bottle  of  old  Burgundy?" 

Belle-Rose  drew  a  flask  from  a  cupboard  and  filled  a 
glass.  He  remembered  the  surgeon's  words.  If  Monsieur 
d'Assonville  had  asked  him  for  whisky,  he  would  have 
given  it  to  him.  The  wounded  man  swallowed  two  glasses 
in  succession. 


104  THE  AGONY. 

"Well  and  good!"  said  he,  "if  death  comes,  it  will  find 
me  prepared." 

He  made  an  effort  to  rise  and  sat  down.  His  face  sud- 
denly grew  colored,  his  eyes  were  inflamed,  he  smiled.  In 
that  supreme  moment,  when  life  was  struggling  with 
death,  the  features  of  Monsieur  d'Assonville  were  lit  up 
by  a  wonderful  beauty.  Belle-Rose  thought  he  saw  him  as 
on  that  day  when,  near  the  abbaye  de  St.  Georges,  he  quitted 
the  Hungarian  cavaliers. 

"Therefore,"  said  the  captain,  "do  what  I  asked  you?  I 
leave  content.  And  nevertheless  I  have  not  seen  her !  You 
understand  me,  you  who  love !  To  leave  without  the  hand 
of  a  woman  constantly  adored  having  pressed  yours — 'tis 
a  great  grief !  Such  is  the  fate  reserved  to  me.  Oh !  I  have 
indeed  suffered !  You  do  not  know  all,  you  have  not  read 
in  that  heart  where  lived  a  dear  and  bitter  recollection ;  it 
has  dried  up  the  springs  of  hope.  When  one  has  loved  as 
I  have  loved,  and  solitude  follows,  it  is  necessary  to  die — I 
am  dying !  You  weep.  Have  I  then  anything  to  regret? 
She  had  killed  my  soul  before  killing  my  body." 

The  glow  of  fever  shone  in  Monsieur  d'Assonville's  eyes, 
and  about  his  mouth  rested  a  fleeting  smile.  He  stopped 
himself  for  a  moment;  his  eyes  strayed  over  the  room  and 
then  again  fixed  themselves  upon  Belle-Rose. 

"It  is  you  who  picked  me  up,"  he  suddenly  said  to  him, 
"you  who  carried  me  here.  Who  has  brought  you  here?" 

Belle-Rose  blushed. 

"I  was  pursued, "  replied  the  sergeant,  "an  exile  was 
offered  me  in  this  chateau,  and  I  accepted  it." 

"A  kind  action!  Take  care,  under  this  exile  there  is  per- 
haps a  tomb. ' ' 

Belle-Rose  looked  at  Monsieur  d'Assonville,  whose 
words  appeared  inexplicable  to  him ;  the  complexion  of 
the  dying  man  had  become  livid ;  his  voice  was  disturbed, 
the  agitation  of  his  face  extraordinary. 

"Some  one  has  saved  you!  One  day  I  also  was  saved 
when  fleeing.  It  was  many  years  ago,  and  I  was  twenty 
years  of  age.  A  young  girl  came  to  me,  gave  me  her  hand, 
led  me  on.  The  cries  of  my  enemies  were  lost  in  the  dis- 
tance, and  the  angel  who  saved  me  released  my  hand  and 
blushed.  How  beautiful  she  was,  my  God !  She  concealed 
me  some  days — I  loved  her  all  my  life !  She  also  loved 
me;  my  transports  delighted  her,  her  love  dazzled  me. 
How  many  times  have  I  not  returned  to  that  retreat  where 
she  appeared  to  me  for  the  first  time !  I  was  intoxicated ! 
the  sight  of  her  was  heaven  to  my  heart.  If  she  had  said 


THE  AGONY.  105 

tome,  'I  wish  to  be  queen,'!  would  have  conquered  a 
crown,  sword  or  poniard  in  hand,  I  would  have  marched 
over  the  dead  body  of  ray  king !  This  love  was  an  abyss  of 
joy  and  delight.  A  year,  I  was  plunged  therein ;  I  came 
back  mournful,  wounded,  bowed  down.  The  evening  be- 
fore I  would  have  ridiculed  the  elect  in  their  eternal  fe- 
licity ;  the  next  day  my  heart  was  a  hell !  Mademoiselle 
de  La  Noue  had  married.'' 

"Mademoiselle  de  La  Noue!"  repeated  Belle-Rose. 

"Have  I  named  her?"  exclaimed  Monsieur  d'Assonville. 
"For  many  years  that  terrible  name  has  not  passed  my 
lips.  It  is  buried  here  as  in  a  tomb, "  he  added,  pressing 
his  breast  with  both  hands ;  "forget  it — she  had  married, 
you  understand,  and  yet  she  was  a  mother!" 

The  sweat  beaded  upon  Monsieur  d'Assonville's  fore- 
head, and  words  came  to  his  lips  like  a  rattle.  Belle-Rose 
listened  to  him,  not  certain  but  what  delirium  was  influ- 
encing his  reason. 

"Mother!  do  you  hear?  she  was  a  mother.  Oh!  my  child! 
my  God,  my  child!" 

Monsieur  d'Assonville's  voice  was  stifled  by  sobs.  Tears 
burst  from  the  eyes  of  that  man  whom  Belle-Rose  had 
never  seen  weep.  A  profound  pity  welled  up  in  the  heart 
of  the  soldier. 

"The  monster!"  said  he. 

"One  day  the  poor  child  was  taken  from  me,"  resumed 
the  captain.  "It  could  barely  prattle,  and  never,  no  doubt, 
has  it  known  my  name." 

"But  what  became  of  her?"  said  Belle-Rose. 

"She?  Oh!  she  is  rich,  powerful,  honored!  She  is  a  lady 
so  proud  and  so  high-placed  that  the  greatest  lords  bow 
at  her  name." 

"Oh!  I  will  avenge  you!"  exclaimed  Belle-Rose. 

"But  I  love  her,  and  it  is  my  child  whom  I  wish!"  re- 
plied Monsieur  d'Assonville. 

The  captain  was  frightful  to  behold.  His  face  was  white 
as  a  shroud,  and  from  his  eyes  there  fell  great  tears  of  de- 
spair ;  love  and  suffering  gave  to  his  physiognomy,  already 
bearing  the  seal  of  death,  a  heart-rending  and  sublime 
expression.  At  this  moment,  the  noise  of  a  carriage  rolling 
in  the  court  troubled  the  profound  silence.  The  carriage 
stopped ;  Belle-Rose  saw  shining  through  the  blinds  the 
torches  of  the  outriders;  the  rustling  of  a  silk  dress 
reached  his  ear,  the  door  of  the  pavilion  opened,  and 
Madame  de  Chateaufort  appeared  upon  the  threshold. 
Monsieur  d'Assonville  turned  his  head,  saw  her,  and 


106  A  STEP  TOWARD  THE  TOMB. 

leaped  to  his  feet,  uttering  a  terrible  cry.  At  this  cry, 
Madame  de  Chateaufort  stopped,  pale  and  mute;  a  pro- 
found terror  was  depicted  upon  her  countenance.  The  eyes 
of  the  dying  man  and  hers  were  fixed  steadily  upon  each 
other.  As  he  leaned  toward  her,  the  arms  of  the  duchess 
moved  in  an  agitated  manner.  Monsieur  d'Assonville 
made  three  steps  forward,  raised  his  hands  to  heaven  and 
fell.  Belle-Rose  rushed  to  him.  He  was  dead.  Madame  de 
Chateaufort  knelt  down.  The  frightened  gaze  of  Belle-Rose 
went  from  the  dead  body  to  Genevieve ;  a  horrible  thought 
chilled  his  heart,  and  his  glance  seemed  to  ask  his  sweet- 
heart to  account  for  the  death  of  his  friend. 

"Assassinated!"  said  he. 

"Oh ! 'tis  not  I  who  am  responsible  for  it!"  exclaimed 
Madame  de  Chateaufort. 

And  with  hands  joined,  bathed  in  tears,  she  tried  to 
crawl  upon  her  knees ;  but,  overcome  by  fright,  she  sank 
down,  and  her  head  struck  the  carpet.  Belle-Rose  went 
out,  tottering  like  a  drunken  man;  a  horrible  thought  trou- 
bled his  soul.  Passing  through  the  court,  the  waiting  wo- 
man, impatient  at  that  long  silence,  questioned  him  as  to 
what  was  taking  place  in  the  pavilion. 

"What  was  Madame  de  Chateaufort's  maiden  name?" 
Belle-Rose  asked  her,  in  a  choking  voice. 

"Mademoiselle  de  La  Noue, "  replied  Camille,  and  she 
entered  the  pavilion. 


CHAPTER    XV. 

A  STEP  TOWARD  THE  TOMB. 

Camille,  on  entering  the  pavilion,  found  Madame  de 
Chateaufort  fainting  near  the  dead  body  of  Monsieur  d'As- 
sonville, whom  she  recognized  at  the  first  glance.  She  un- 
derstood clearly  then  the  question  of  Belle-Rose ;  but  with- 
out stopping  to  calculate  the  import  of  it,  she  called,  and 
some  lackeys  aided  her  to  transport  their  mistress  into  her 
apartment.  The  events  which  had  resulted  from  this  catas- 
trophe had  succeeded  each  other  so  suddenly  that  Madame 
de  Chateaufort  could  not  resist  their  impetuosity.  This 
strong  and  energetic  woman  seerued  overwhelmed  by  a 
single  stroke.  She  remained  for  several  hours  rigid  and 
cold ;  life  was  betrayed  only  by  the  tears  which  fell  from 
her  half-closed  eyes  and  by  the  trembling  of  her  face, 
where  was  reflected  all  the  anguish  of  terror  and  despair. 


A  STEP  TOWARD  THE  TOMB.  107 

Madame  de  Chateaufort  had  arrived  in  the  afternoon  at 
her  Paris  hotel,  and  had  only  taken  time  to  change  her 
clothing  before  going  in  a  fiacre  to  the  house  in  the  Eue 
Cassette.  Monsieur  d'Assonville  had  presented  himself 
there  the  evening  before  and  the  same  day.  Madame  de 
Chateaufort  sent  to  his  home  and  learned  that  he  had  gone 
out ;  but,  upon  being  advised  that  he  would  probably  re- 
turn during  the  evening,  she  asked  the  lackey  to  inform 
him  that  he  was  expected  in  the  Rue  Cassette.  Unfortu- 
nately Monsieur  d'Assonville  having,  on  his  part,  gone  to 
Madame  de  Chateaufort's  hotel,  a  few  moments  before  the 
duchess'  arrival  at  Paris,  he  was  informed  by  a  valet  that 
she  intended  to  prolong  her  sojourn  in  the  country.  He 
decided  immediately  as  to  what  he  should  do ;  he  knew 
the  park  and  its  secret  issues,  the  passages  which  led  to 
the  duchess'  apartments,  and,  thoroughly  convinced  by 
her  silence  that  she  was  firmly  decided  to  avoid  every 
interview,  he  wished  to  penetrate  to  her  room  at  night, 
even  should  he  perish  in  the  attempt.  Just  as  Madame  de 
Chateaufort  entered  Paris,  Monsieur  d'Assonville  left  it. 
When  he  perceived  Ecouen,  he  stopped  and  waited  for 
night,  not  wishing  to  present  himself  before  the  chateau 
gate,  thinking  that  he  would  be  refused  admittance. 
When  twilight  came  he  gained  the  walls  of  the  park,  con- 
cealed himself  in  a  thicket,  and  when  darkness  prevailed 
everywhere,  he  sought  the  secret  door  at  the  angle  of  the 
wall  where,  in  happier  times,  the  light  feet  of  a  woman 
had  so  often  accompanied  him.  He  found  it  open  and  ad- 
vanced rapidly  through  the  park.  But  Monsieur  de  Ville- 
brais,  who  was  seeking  Belle-Rose,  seeing  a  man  coming 
down  the  avenue  which  led  to  the  chateau,  threw  himself 
upon  him,  thinking  that  it  was  his  rival.  "Defend  your- 
self, scoundrel!"  he  cried  to  him.  Monsieur  d'Assonville 
had  scarcely  time  to  draw  his  sword  before  a  thrust 
pierced  his  breast ;  enfeebled  by  a  recent  wound,  he  could 
not  oppose  a  long  resistance  to  the  attacks  of  his  assassin, 
and  fell  just  as  Belle-Rose  was  coming  to  his  aid.  While 
these  things  were  taking  place  at  the  chateau,  Madame  de 
Chateaufort  was  waiting,  filled  with  a  feverish  impa- 
tience, in  the  house  in  the  Rue  Cassette.  The  hours  suc- 
ceeded each  other  without  Monsieur  d'Assonville  appear- 
ing. About  midnight  she  again  sent  to  the  captain's  lodg- 
ings. News  came  back  that  Monsieur  d'Assonville's  valet 
had  returned  after  having  quitted  his  master  upon  the 
route  to  St.  Denis.  Madame  de  Chateaufort  did  not  say  a 
word,  but  Camille  understood  to  what  anguish  she  was  a 


108  A  STEP  TOWARD  THE  TOMB. 

prey,  by  the  look  which  her  mistress  threw  her.  A  mo- 
ment after,  both  mounted  a  carriage  and  hurriedly  took 
the  road  to  Ecouen.  The  rest  is  known.  Belle-Rose  wan- 
dered about  till  morning,  struggling  with  all  his  soul 
against  madness  and  despair.  Monsieur  d'Assonville  was 
dead,  and  she  whom  Monsieur  d'Assonville  loved  was  his 
mistress.  Belle-Rose  reproached  himself  with  the  death  of 
the  captain,  and  remorse  entered  his  soul  along  with  grief. 
The  freshness  of  the  dawn  calmed  his  agitation ;  a  duty 
was  left  him  to  fulfill,  the  voice  of  honor  prevailed,  in  the 
tumult  of  his  thoughts,  and  he  hoard  its  voice.  Belle-Rose 
bid  adieu  for  the  last  time  to  the  inanimate  body  of  his 
protector,  wrote  some  lines  which  he  addressed  to  Madame 
de  Chateaufort,  also  two  notes  which  he  sent  to  Cornelius 
and  Claudine,  to  inform  them  of  his  departure  and  his  res- 
olution to  go  to  see  Monsieur  de  Naucrais,  saddled  a  horse 
and  left  the  chateau  at  a  gallop.  The  duchess  had  scarcely 
awoke  from  her  long  fainting,  when  she  heard  the  park 
gate  roll  upon  its  hinges  and  the  shoes  of  a  horse  striking 
the  pebbles.  She  hastily  arose,  and  at  a  bound  reached  the 
balcony;  a  cloud  of  dust  was  whirling  along  the  road.  She 
saw  Belle-Rose  disappear  under  the  white,  winding  sheet, 
and  her  heart  repeated  his  name. 

The  next  moment  a  lackey  presented  himself,  letter  in 
hand. 

Madame  de  Chateaufort  took  this  letter,  and,  falling 
upon  a  sofa,  made  a  sign  to  the  lackey  to  retire.  She  broke 
the  seal,  and  with  eyes  full  of  tears  read: 

"MADAME  :— You  have  deprived  me  of  the  right  of  avenging  Mon- 
sieur d'Assonville,  but  I  recommend  to  you  his  mortal  remains  ;  give 
to  his  body  the  repose  which  you  have  refused  to  his  heart.  Mon- 
sieiir  d'Assonville  has  charged  me  with  a  sacred  mission.  What  he 
wished,  I  shall  wish;  so  act  that  I  may  never  be  forced  to  hate  you. 

"BELLE-KOSE." 

Madame  de  Chateaufort  threw  herself  back  pale  and  in- 
animate. She  no  longer  had  either  voice  to  complain  or 
tears  to  weep;  a  burning  fever  devoured  her.  In  the  mean- 
time Belle-Rose,  leaving  his  horse  at  the  first  relay,  took  a 
post-horse  and  arrived  the  next  day  at  Cambria,  where 
Monsieur  de  Naucrais'  regiment  then  was.  Monsieur  de 
Naucrais  was  working  in  his  room  when  Belle-Rose  pre- 
sented himself  before  the  soldier  on  guard.  At  the  sound 
of  his  voice,  Monsieur  de  Naucrais  leaped  from  his  chair 
and  ran  himself  to  open  the  door;  scarcely  had  Belle-Rose 
passed  it,  when  his  captain  repulsed  him  violently. 


A  STEP  TOWAED  THE  TOMB.  109 

"You  come  when  you  are  no  longer  expected,"  he  ex- 
claimed; "but  you  must  have  thought  that  it  was  never 
too  late  to  get  yourself  hung." 

"I  shall  be  judged,  Monsieur  le  Vicomte,  but  that  is  not 
the  only  motive  which  brings  me." 

"Par bleu!  it  is  the  only  one  which  will  retain  you!  If 
you  no  longer  recollect  the  odor  of  powder,  you  will  be 
made  to  smell  it  close  enough  to  no  longer  forget  it." 

"Permit  me  to  believe  that  the  thing  is  not  yet  done." 

"Eh!  morbleu!  you  have  taken  care  to  arrange  things 
so  as  to  avoid  all  uncertainty.  You  give  my  lieutenant  a 
sword  thrust,  and  afterward  desert.  But  it  does  not  re- 
quire half  that  to  get  a  man  shot.  Could  you  not  stay 
where  you  were?" 

"I  have  staid  there  too  long." 

"Then  you  should  have  staid  there  always.  The  idea 
of  being  an  honest  man  takes  you  a  little  late." 

"Captain!" 

"Are  you  going  to  get  vexed  now?" 

"I  surrender — is  it  not  enough?" 

"It  is  too  much,  morbleu !  Since  you  had  enough  of  the 
soldier's  trade,  you  should  have  remained  a  deserter. 
What  the  devil  do  you  wish  me  to  say  to  Monsieur  d'As- 
sonville,  my  brother,  when  he  learns  that  I  have  had  you 
shot?" 

At  Monsieur  d'Assonville's  name,  Belle-Rose  stifled  a 
sigh. 

"Ah!  you  sigh!"  resumed  Monsieur  de  Naucrais,  who 
was  walking  the  room,  masking  under  the  appearance  of 
anger  the  interest  he  felt  in  Belle-Rose.  "Monsieur  de  Vil- 
lebrais,  they  say,  is  a  bad  man ;  but  he  is  your  officer.  Still 
if  you  had  gone  to  get  yourself  massacred  elsewhere,  I 
should  have  washed  my  hands  of  it. ' ' 

"Monsieur  le  Vicomte, "  said  Belle-Rose,  "it  will  be  as 
God  sees  fit ;  but  permit  me  to  dismiss  this  subject.  I  have 
other  duties  to  fulfil. ' ' 

"Other  duties!  Are  you  mad?  You  have  none  other  than 
to  go  to  prison." 

"I  will  go  presently;  but  tell  me,  I  pray  you,  if  you 
have  not  a  package  of  Monsieur  d'Assonyille  to  hand  me." 

"Par bleu!  I  had  forgotten  it.  Here  it  is.  If  my  brother 
charges  you  with  some  commission,  he  chooses  well  his 
time.  He  is  in  Paris  now,  I  imagine;  have  you  seen  him? 
how  is  he?" 

At  this  question,  Belle-Rose  grew  pale. 

"Do  you  hear  me?"  said  Monsieur  de  Naucrais.    "Oh,  if 


110  A  STEP  TOWARD  THE  TOMB. 

you  do  not  wish  to  speak,"  he  added,  on  seeing  the  hesi- 
tation of  Belle-Rose,  "keep  your  secret.  My  brother  has 
always  been  the  most  mysterious  man  in  the  world;  he 
has  a  multitude  of  obscure  affairs  of  which  I  have  never 
understood  anything.  If  they  are  yours  also — carry  them 
out  together." 

"Alas!  Monsieur  d'Assonville  will  have  them  no  more!" 
said  Belle-Rose,  sadly. 

Monsieur  de  Naucrais  stopped  himself  short. 

"What  did  you  say?"  he  exclaimed. 

"Monsieur  d'Assonville  is  dead,"  replied  the  soldier. 

"Dead!"  repeated  the  captain,  and  he  leaned  against  the 
mantel.  His  legs  trembled  under  him. 

Belle-Rose  related  to  him  the  details  of  the  tragic  events 
of  which  he  had  been  a  witness,  suppressing,  however, 
the  particulars  which  concerned  him  personally,  as  well 
as  Madame  de  Chateaufort.  Monsieur  de  Naucrais  listened 
to  him  with  eyes  fixed  on  his.  Each  word  of  this  funereal 
narrative  reached  his  heart ;  but  he  struggled  with  all  his 
strength  against  the  emotion  which  seized  him. 

"Yes,"  said  he,  after  Belle-Rose  had  ceased  speaking, 
"that  is  the  way  it  must  have  been.  My  brother  was  kind, 
brave,  loyal,  and  frank,  the  other  is  a  debauched  wretch : 
they  have  met — my  brother  is  dead ;  thus  goes  the  world. 
The  coward  triumphs  where  the  brave  man  succumbs. 
Poor  Gaston !  to  what  he  might  not  have  arrived !  But 
he  loved.  A  woman  has  placed  herself  between  him  and 
the  marshal's  baton,  and  this  woman  has  made  him  stum- 
ble. May  God  curse  her,  the  infamous  creature!" 

Monsieur  de  Naucrais,  paler  than  a  corpse,  raised  both 
his  hands  to  heaven  with  a  frightful  expression  of  hatred 
and  fury.  Belle-Rose  shivered  from  head  to  foot. 

"Oh!  if  he  were  still  living,"  continued  the  captain, 
"with  this  hand  I  would  snatch  from  my  brother's  heart 
the  memory  of  that  love,  even  if  it  resulted  in  his  death. 
But  he  is  dead,  my  poor  brother !  You  do  not  know  how 
rough  and  severe  I  was  with  him ;  but  I  loved  him  as  a 
father  loves  his  child." 

Conquered  this  time  by  grief,  the  captain  fell  upon  a 
fauteuil  and  concealed  his  head  between  his  hands.  He 
was  weeping.  Belle-Rose  softly  approached  and  took  him 
by  the  hand.  The  captain  answered  this  movement  by  a 
pressure  of  the  hand. 

All  at  once  Monsieur  de  Naucrais  arose. 

"Enough  tears,"  said  he.  "A  thousand  sobs  would  not 
give  my  brother  one  hour  of  life.  It  is  a  question  of  you 


A  STEP  TOWARD  THE  TOMB.  Ill 

now.  You  are  a  brave  and  honest  soldier,  and  Monsieur 
de  Villebrais  is  a  -wretched  officer  who  has  more  pride  than 
courage.  You  have  struck  him,  and  you  have  done  well. 
You  had  right  and  justice  on  your  side.  Nevertheless  you 
will  be  shot.  Discipline  requires  it,  and  discipline  must  be 
obeyed.  Give  me  your  hand  and  go  to  your  dungeon." 

Monsieur  de  Naucrais  rang.  Corporal  Deroute  appeared. 
Monsieur  de  Naucrais  exchanged  a  last  look  with  Belle- 
Rose  and  turned  quickly  from  him.  He  was  no  longer  the 
friend — he  was  the  officer. 

"Corporal, "  said  he  to  Deroute,  "here  is  the  deserter 
Belle-Rose  whom  I  confide  to  you.  Take  him  to  the  dun- 
geon and  return  to  get  my  order  for  the  convocation  of 
the  court-martial.  Go." 

Deroute  carried  his  hand  to  his  hat  and  went  out.  No 
sooner  had  they  passed  the  door,  when  the  corporal  threw 
himself  upon  the  sergeant's  neck. 

"Death  of  my  life!  you  have  had  a  ridiculous  idea,"  said 
Deroute,  "but  patience,  all  is  not  finished." 

"There  are  three  or  four  dajTs  left,  I  believe." 

"Between  the  evening  before  and  the  next  day,  there  is 
room  for  a  project. ' ' 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"We  have  not  the  leisure  to  talk  in  this  corridor.  I 
must  first  place  you  in  the  dungeon.  Afterward  I  go  to 
the  captain,  and  if  I  obtain  his  permission  to  command 
the  men  on  guard,  I  am  content." 

"Ask  him  on  my  part,  and  he  will  consent." 

"Parbleu,  I  was  thinking  of  that.  Let  us  march  quickly; 
we  will  have  time  to  talk  after." 

In  five  minutes  the  dungeon  door  was  closed  upon  him. 

"Sit  down,"  said  Deroute.  "I  go  and  return." 

The  dungeon  was  a  low  hall  adjoining  the  barrack  of  the 
artillery  men.  The  windows  were  furnished  with  great 
iron  bars.  Belle-Rose  paced  to  and  fro.  One  of  the  win- 
dows gave  upon  the  beat,  where  a  soldier  was  promenad- 
ing, with  a  musket  on  his  shoulder.  As  Belle-Rose  looked 
out  he  perceived  Deroute  approaching  with  rapid  strides. 

"Well,  I  come  from  the  captain.  Eh!  he  has  done  things 
well, ' '  and  Deroute  entered. 

"Really!" 

"Through  friendship  for  you,  and  in  order  to  shorten 
your  stay  in  the  dungeon,  he  advances  the  judgment  and 
execution.  We  spoke  of  four  days — you  will  be  shot  in 
forty-eight  hours." 


112  THE  EVE  OF  THE  LAST  DAY. 

CHAPTER  XVI. 
THE  EVE  OF  THE  LAST  DAY. 

At  the  corporal's  words,  Belle-Rose  looked  at  the  plain 
which  was  radiant  with  the  splendor  of  a  beautiful  day. 
The  corporal  observed  this  look. 

"That  is  to  say  you  will  be  shot  in  forty-eight  hours  if  I 
wish  it,"  he  added. 

"Has  the  presidency  of  the  councils  of  war  fallen  to 
you?"  asked  Belle-Rose,  languidly. 

"I  command  the  place,  and  it  shall  not  be  said  that  I 
have  done  nothing  to  save  you  from  their  muskets.  I  have 
my  project,  and  I  intend  to  execute  it." 

Belle-Rose,  astonished,  turned  to  the  corporal  who, 
while  talking,  had  just  bolted  the  door. 

"Two  precautions  are  better  than  one,"  continued 
Deroute.  Let  us  close  the  door  and  talk  low.  Here  is  a 
chair;  sit  down,  and  above  all  listen  to  me  well." 

The  corporal  sat  down  beside  the  sergeant  and  continued 
in  these  terms : 

"Monsieur  de  Naucrais  has  placed  me  in  command  of 
the  guard.  That  is  what  I  wished.  The  court-martial  as- 
sembles to-morrow  morning ;  you  will  be  condemned  to- 
morrow evening,  and  after  the  promulgation  of  the  sen- 
tence, you  will  be  taken  to  the  dungeon  of  the  provost 
guard,  where  you  will  be  confided  to  the  hands  of  the 
provost  of  the  company,  and  the  next  day  at  noon,  in  the 
presence  of  the  whole  garrison,  you  will  be  shot. " 

"I  thank  you  for  these  details,  my  friend;  they  interest 
me  much,"  said  Belle-Rose. 

"Listen  to  the  end;  the  rest  will  interest  you  more.  If  I 
waited  till  the  provost  closed  the  door  of  his  dungeon 
upon  you,  you  understand  Shat  the  intervention  of  Cor- 
poral Deroute  would  not  be  very  useful  to  you ;  those  in 
the  care  of  the  provost  do  not  escape.  But  between  this 
honest  prison  in  which  we  arc  talking  and  his  cursed  dun- 
geon, there  are  twenty-four  hours.  It  is  more  time  than  I 
need  to  effect  your  escape." 

Belle-Rose  bounded  in  his  chair. 

"Escape!"  he  exclaimed. 

"Undoubtedly!  Do  you  think,  then,  that  Corporal 
Deroute  is  one  of  those  who  forget  their  friends?  I  love 
you  and  will  save  you. ' ' 


THE  EVE  OP  THE  LAST  DAY.  113 

"And  you  will  get  yourself  shot." 

"What  difference  does  that  make  to  you,  if  it  suits  me? 
But  they  will  not  hold  me  since  I  decamp  at  the  same  time 
as  you." 

"You,  too?" 

"Certainly.  My  project  is  a  fine  one,  as  you  can  judge 
for  yourself.  The  men  who  are  to  compose  the  night  •watch 
all  belong  to  our  squad;  they  are  good  comrades  who 
would  face  the  devil  for  you.  When  they  have  assembled, 
I  shall  range  them  in  a  circle  and  will  say  to  them  some- 
thing like  this:  'Children,  there  is  a  brave  sergeant  inside 
who  has  often  given  us  ten  hours'  leave  when  we  merited 
the  lock-up  '  'It  is  true,'  they  will  reply.  'Certainly  it  is 
true,'  I  will  then  make  answer;  'therefore,  comrades,  each 
one  must  have  his  turn ;  he  has  sent  us  to  walk,  give  him 
some  air.  You  will  go  to  sleep,  I  will  open  the  door,  you 
will  see  nothing,  and  he  will  go  away.  It  is  your  corporal 
who  orders  you.  Go  to  bed. '" 

"And  you  believe  that  they  will  sleep?" 

"That  is  to  say  they  will  place  their  fists  over  their  eyes 
and  their  thumbs  in  their  ears ;  I  know  them.  Five  min- 
utes after,  we  will  flee  like  partridges  through  the  fields. 
What  do  you  think  of  the  project?" 

"It  is  charming;  I  only  see  one  difficulty  about  it." 

"What  is  it?" 

"The  difficulty  is  that  it  does  not  please  me  to  escape." 

It  was  the  corporal's  turn  to  bound  in  his  chair. 

"It  does  not  please  you?    Come,  you  are  joking." 

"No,  I  speak  seriously;  it  is  my  idea." 

"Well!  if  it  suits  you  to  remain,  it  suits  me  to  open  the 
door. ' ' 

"Then  you  will  leave  alone." 

"No,  I  will  wait." 

"But  you  will  be  arrested  at  daybreak." 

"I  counted  on  that." 

"And  you  will  be  shot." 

"1  agree  with  you  there." 

"Go  to  the  devil." 

"I  prefer  to  remain  here." 

Belle-Eose  left  his  seat  and  made  some  turns  in  the 
prison.  Deroute,  leaning  back  in  his  chair,  played  with 
his  thumbs.  The  sergeant  stopped  before  that  honest  face 
which  was  at  the  same  time  resolute. 

"My  friend, "  he  said  to  him,  taking  him  by  the  hand, 
"what  you  wish  to  do  is  madness." 

"Not  more  than  what  you  do  not  wish  to  do." 


114  THE  EVE  OF  THE  LAST  DAY. 

"Your  mind  is  made  up,  then?" 

"Perfectly.  I  was  a  groom,  I  am  a  corporal,  I  -will  be 
dead — that  is  all." 

"But,  supposing  I  accept,  have  you  reflected  on  the  diffi- 
culties of  your  project?" 

"Bless  me!  if  one  thought  of  everything,  one  would 
never  attempt  anything." 

"There  is  the  sentinel  making  the  round." 

"It  is  a  risk  to  run." 

"The  patrol  who  go  and  come  around  the  ramparts." 

"It  is  their  trade  to  see  people,  it  will  be  ours  to  avoid 
them." 

"We  shall  be  overtaken  before  we  gain  the  frontier." 

"At  the  mercy  of  God!" 

Belle-Rose  stamped.  The  corporal  continued  to  twirl  his 
fingers. 

"After  all,  do  what  you  wish,"  exclaimed  the  sergeant; 
"if  you  are  shot,  it  will  be  your  own  fault." 

"Agreed,"  said  Deroute,  and  he  rose  to  go. 

The  day  was  over,  and  the  dinner  hour  had  come.  The 
corporal  went  out  to  fulfil  the  duties  of  his  charge,  fie 
had  to  watch  at  the  same  time  over  the  mess  and  over  his 
prisoner.  He  had  scarcely  passed  the  door,  when  Belle- 
Rose,  drawing  a  pencil  from  his  pocket,  hastily  wrote 
some  words  upon  a  slip  of  paper.  When  he  had  finished, 
he  approached  the  window  which  gave  upon  the  yard ;  a 
sapper  was  close  by. 

"Do  you  wish  to  render  me  a  service,  comrade?"  Belle- 
Rose  said  to  him. 

"If  the  instructions  permit  me,  willingly." 

"Then  take  this  letter  and  carry  it  immediately  to  Mon- 
sieur de  Naucrais.  If  he  is  not  at  home,  search  for  him 
till  you  have  found  him,  and  do  not  return  without  hav- 
ing placed  it  in  his  own  hands." 

"It  is  pressing,  then?" 

"Somewhat.     It  concerns  a  man's  life." 

"I  shall  run,  then." 

Monsieur  de  Naucrais,  entirely  wrapped  up  in  the  grief 
caused  by  his  brother's  death,  had  given  orders  that  he 
should  not  be  disturbed ;  but  at  the  name  of  Belle-Rose  he 
had  the  sapper  introduced  and  took  the  letter.  It  only 
contained  these  lines : 

"CAPTAIN  : — If  you  were  not  Monsieur  de  Naucrais,  I  should  say 
nothing  to  you  of  what  has  passed  between  Corporal  Deroute  and 
myself;  but  in  confiding  to  you  this  secret,  I  am  sure  that  instead  of 


THE  EVE  OF  THE  LAST  DAY.  115 

punishing  him,  you  will  prevent  my  poor  comrade  from  destroying 
himself.  Deroute  cotmts  on  assisting  me  to  escape  to-night.  I 
have  vainly  attempted  to  dissuade  him,  he  persists,  and  exposes  him- 
self to  be  shot  to  save  me.  I  no  longer  cling  to  life,  and  whatever  he 
may  do,  I  am  resolved  to  submit  to  my  fate,  but  I  do  not  wish  to 
make  him  share  it.  He  is  an  honest  man,  whom  I  should  regret 
much  to  see  die.  Protect  him  against  himself.  BELLE-KOBE." 

Monsieur  de  Naucrais  crumpled  up  the  letter. 

"Say  to  Belle-Rose  that  I  will  do  what  he  asks,"  said 
he  to  the  sapper,  who  left  the  room. 

"He  has  a  true  soldier's  heart!"  exclaimed  Monsieur  de 
Naucrais,  when  he  was  alone;  "my  brother  and  he,  one 
after  the  other.  Only  the  good  die. " 

And  the  captain,  exasperated,  broke  with  his  fist  a  little 
table  against  which  he  was  leaning. 

An  hour  after  the  sapper's  return,  Belle-Rose  saw  Cor- 
poral Deroute  enter  his  prison.  The  poor  corporal  wore  a 
frightened  countenance. 

"We  are  betrayed!"  said  he,  falling  upon  a  chair. 

"Really!"  replied  Belle-Rose,  affecting  a  great  surprise. 

"The  captain  has  learned  everything.  Some  mischiev- 
ous artilleryman  must  have  heard  us.  I  was  swallowing 
my  soup  when  a  cannoneer  came  on  the  part  of  the  captain 
to  order  me  to  instantly  appear  before  him.  I  go.  Scarcely 
are  we  alone,  when  Monsieur  de  Naucrais  makes  me  a  sign 
to  approach.  'I  Jmow  all,'  he  said  to  me.  At  these  words 
I  grow  troubled  and  stammer  a  reply  of  which  I  under- 
stood nothing  myself.  'Peace, 'he  continues.  'I  have  no 
proofs,  you  will  not  appear  then  before  a  council  of  war ; 
but  to  deprive  you  of  any  desire  to  begin  again,  I  send 
you  to  the  lock-up.  You  will  remain  there  three  days.  If 
you  were  not  a  good  soldier,  I  would  make  you  taste  the 
sprouts.  Take  this  and  march. '  I  leave  thoroughly  stupe- 
fied and  find  outside  three  cannoneers  who  bring  me  back 
here.  During  the  route,  I  examine  what  the  captain  had 
placed  in  my  hand.  It  was  a  purse,  in  which  I  have 
counted  a  dozen  louis.  The  lock-up  and  gold,  all  at  the 
same  time — I  did  not  understand  it.  The  sergeant  who  has 
replaced  me  in  command  of  the  post  has  permitted  me  to 
enter  a  moment.  What  an  adventure!" 

"You  need  not  grieve — we  would  not  have  succeeded." 

"Bah !  the  night  is  black,  and  we  have  good  legs." 

"I  prefer  to  see  you  in  prison.  You  risked  your  life  and 
I  do  not  cling  to  mine." 

"This  evening,  it  is  possible;  but  to-morrow!  Hold,  I 
will  never  console  myself  for  it." 


116  THE  EVE  OF  THE  LAST  DAY. 

The  butt-end  of  a  musket  striking  the  door  interrupted 
him. 

"They  are  recalling  me,"  said  Deroute.    "Already!" 

He  arose  and  made  two  turns  about  the  room.  A  second 
blow  from  the  butt-end  of  the  musket  warned  him  to  make 
haste. 

"Good!"  he  exclaimed,  "my  three  cannoneers  are  afraid 
of  catching  a  cold!  Adieu,  sergeant." 

"Do  you  wish  to  embrace  me,  my  friend?" 

"Do  I  wish  it?    I  did  not  dare  to  ask  it  of  you." 

Deroute  threw  himself  upon  Belle-Eose's  neck  and  held 
him  in  his  arms  for  a  long  time. 

A  third  knock  at  the  door  was  heard.  Deroute  ran  to  it, 
opened  it  quickly,  and  disappeared.  He  was  stifling.  When 
Belle-Eose  no  longer  heard  the  noise  of  the  cadenced  steps 
of  the  little  escort,  he  drew  from  his  pocket  Monsieur 
d'Assonville's  folded  paper  and  read  the  contents  of  it.  It 
was  a  sort  of  will  by  which  the  young  captain  appointed 
Belle-Rose  his  executor  by  revealing  to  him  the  existence 
of  a  child  which  he  had  had  by  Mademoiselle  de  La  Noue 
before  her  marriage  with  the  Due  de  Chateaufort.  This 
child  had  disappeared,  and  Monsieur  d'Assonville  charged 
Belle-Rose  with  getting  possession  of  it,  at  the  same  time 
turning  over  to  him  the  divers  papers  which  might  aid 
him  in  his  researches.  Belle-Rose  was  obliged  to  inter- 
rupt this  reading  at  least  ten  times.  Burning  tears  fur- 
rowed his  cheeks.  He  felt  his  life  escaping  through  the 
wounds  in  his  heart.  The  name  of  Genevieve — that  name 
filled  with  horror  and  intoxication — returned  unceasingly 
to  his  lips  mixed  with  that  of  Monsieur  d'Assonville,  and 
to  escape  the  disorder  of  his  thoughts,  the  recollection  of 
Suzanne  was  the  only  exile  in  which  his  riven  soul  could 
take  refuge.  But  was  not  Suzanne  also  lost  to  him !  On  all 
sides  were  hopes  destroyed.  The  flowers  of  his  youth  had 
scarcely  opened  to  the  light  before  they  were  withered, 
and  in  his  short  life,  which  musket  balls  were  so  soon  go- 
ing to  finish,  he  saw  nothing  except  mournful  griefs  and 
sterile  struggles. 

"The  will  of  God  be  done!"  said  he,  and  throwing  him- 
self upon  his  knees,  he  prayed. 

When  the  first  rays  of  dawn  lit  up  the  pale  hill-sides, 
Belle-Rose  was  still  writing.  Before  him  were  some  letters 
addressed  to  Madame  d'Albergotti,  to  Claudine,  to  his 
father,  to  Cornelius  O'Brien,  to  Madame  de  Chateaufort, 
and  to  Monsieur  de  Naucrais.  More  calm,  he  threw  him- 
self upon  the  camp-bed  while  waiting  the  hour  for  the 


THE  EVE  OF  THE  LAST  DAY.  117 

court-martial.  At  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning  a  squad  of 
sappers  appeared  at  the  door  of  the  dungeon.  An  officer 
appeared  upon  the  threshold,  sword  in  hand,  and  made  a 
sign  to  Belle-Rose  to  advance.  Five  minutes  after,  he  en- 
tered the  hall  of  the  court-martial,  which  was  presided 
over  by  the  major  of  the  regiment.  Monsieur  de  Naucrais 
was  seated  to  the  right  of  the  major.  His  face  appeared 
calm ;  only  it  was  very  pale.  Before  a  table,  opposite  the 
major,  a  clerk  was  to  be  seen.  The  squad  ranged  them- 
selves in  front  of  the  tribunal,  and  Belle-Rose  remained 
standing  slightly  in  front.  The  hall  was  filled  with  curi- 
osity seekers,  among  which  were  to  be  remarked  a  large 
number  of  soldiers.  On  the  arrival  of  the  sergeant,  a  great 
commotion  took  place  in  this  crowd ;  a  deep  silence  soon 
succeeded  it.  The  clerk  first  read  the  accusation,  which 
declared  that  Sergeant  Belle-Rose,  after  having  grievously 
wounded  his  lieutenant,  had  rendered  himself  guilty  of 
the  crime  of  desertion.  After  this  reading,  the  major 
passed  to  the  questioning  of  the  prisoner. 

"Your  name?"  said  he. 

"Jacques  Grinedal, "  said  Belle-Rose,  "sergeant  in  the 
company  of  Monsieur  de  Naucrais. " 

At  his  name,  Monsieur  de  Naucrais  trembled,  and  dur- 
ing the  rest  of  the  questioning  remained  with  head  bowed. 
"Your  age?"  continued  the  president. 

"Twenty-three." 

After  the  clerk  had  recorded  these  divers  responses  in 
the  proces-verbal,  Belle-Rose  was  asked  if  he  had  not 
wounded  his  lieutenant,  Monsieur  le  Chevalier  de  Ville- 
brais,  somewhere  close  to  Neuilly.  Belle-Rose  answered 
ihis  question  affirmatively;  but  in  justification  of  his 
honor  as  a  soldier,  he  begged  the  tribunal  to  hear  him, 
and,  upon  the  authorization  of  the  major,  he  related  the 
scene  which  had  resulted  in  the  duel.  This  declaration 
was  listened  to  in  profound  silence.  A  murmur  traversed 
the  assembly.  The  crowd  absolved  the  soldier. 

The  major  picked  up  a  package  of  papers. 

"The  confessions  of  the  accused,"  said  he,  "are  in  con- 
formity with  the  written  and  signed  declarations  sent  us 
from  Paris;  one  comes  from  the  coachman  who  drove 
the  sergeant  and  his  sister ;  the  other  is  from  an  Irish 
gentleman,  Cornelius  O'Brien,  who  witnessed  the  com- 
bat. They  have  not  been  contradicted  by  Monsieur  de  Vil- 
lebrais,  to  whom  they  have  been  transmitted  and  whose 
absence  we  regret  at  this  moment." 

After  the  hearing  of  these  facts,  the  court-martial,  con- 


118  THE  EVE  OF  THE  LAST  DAY. 

sidering  the  action  of  Belle-Rose  as  a  case  of  legitimate 
defense,  dismissed  the  accusation  of  a  criminal  attempt 
against  the  person  of  an  officer.  The  crime  of  desertion 
alone  remained  for  consideration. 

"After  your  duel  with  Lieutenant  Villebrais,  why  did 
you  not  return  to  Laon,  where  your  company  then  was?" 
said  the  major. 

"That  was  my  first  intention,  but  an  accident  prevented 
me." 

"A  wound,  perhaps?" 

"Yes,  major." 

"But  you  might  have  written  and  set  out  after  your 
cure. ' ' 

"That  is  true." 

"By  remaining  where  you  were,  do  you  know  that  you 
rendered  yourself  guilty  of  the  crime  of  desertion?" 

"I  know  it  and  recognize  myself  as  guilty." 

"Have  you  some  explanations  to  give  as  to  the  causes  of 
your  absenca?" 

Belle-Rose  shook  his  head.  The  major  exchanged  some 
words  with  the  members  of  the  court-martial,  and,  turn- 
ing to  Belle-Rose,  asked  him  if  he  had  anything  to  add  in 
his  defense.  Upon  his  negative  reply,  he  ordered  him  to 
be  taken  back  to  prison.  The  squad  of  infantry  went  out 
with  the  accused,  the  hall  was  vacated,  and  the  court  en- 
tered on  its  deliberations. 

Toward  evening  the  sergeant  of  the  guard  opened  the 
prison  door. 

"Rise,  comrade,  and  follow  me,"  he  said. 

"Where  do  you  take  me?"  asked  Belle-Rose. 

"Bless  me!  to  a  place  where  one  goes  but  once." 

"To  the  dungeon  of  the  provost  guard?" 

The  sergeant  bowed. 

"Well,"  continued  Belle-Rose,  "I  understand." 

He  was  placed  between  four  cannoneers  and  taken  to 
the  dungeon,  which  was  not  in  the  same  building.  It  was 
a  small,  narrow,  vaulted  room  which  received  its  light 
through  two  dormer-windows  provided  with  strong  iron 
bars.  A  pallet  was  in  one  corner,  a  bench  against  the  wall, 
and  a  wooden  Christ  on  the  door.  It  was  a  somber,  cold, 
and  humid  place,  something  like  the  antechamber  of  a 
sepulcher.  The  provost  of  the  regiment  received  Belle- 
Rose  and  placed  his  name  upon  the  dungeon  register.  A 
moment  after  the  adjutant  and  clerk  entered.  The  clerk 
held  a  paper  in  his  hand.  Belle-Rose  uncovered  himself, 


A  WOMAN'S  HAND.  119 

and  the  sentinels  presented  arms.  Flambeaux  were  lit,  and 
the  clerk  read  the  judgment  of  the  court-martial. 

"What  is  the  hour  set  for  execution?"  asked  Belle-Rose. 

"To-morrow  morning,  at  eleven  o'clock." 

"I  will  he  ready,  monsieur." 

"If  you  are  of  our  holy  religion,  does  it  please  you  to 
have  a  confessor?" 

"I  was  just  going  to  ask  you  to  procure  me  one." 

The  clerk  made  a  sign  to  the  provost,  who  went  out  and 
came  back  at  the  end  of  ten  minutes  with  a  priest.  Every- 
body withdrew,  and  when  the  door  was  closed,  Belle- 
Rose  remained  alone  with  the  man  of  God. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 
A   WOMAN'S   HAND. 

The  next  day  at  ten  o'clock  the  provost  entered  the  dun- 
geon. Belle-Rose  was  sleeping  upon  the  pallet,  after  a 
night  passed  in  pious  exhortations,  fatigue  of  body  hav- 
ing triumphed  over  anguish  of  mind.  The  priest  was  pray- 
ing, kneeling  under  the  image  of  Christ.  The  provost 
struck  the  condemned  man  upon  the  shoulder. 

"Stand,  sergeant,"  said  he,  "the  hour  has  come." 

Belle-Rose  obeyed  at  once.  The  priest  advanced  to- 
ward him. 

"My  father,  pardon  me  my  faults,"  the  soldier  said  to 
him,  falling  upon  his  knees. 

The  priest  raised  his  hands  to  heaven. 

"Condemned  by  men,  I  absolve  you  before  God,"  said 
he;  "you  have  suffered,  go  in  peace." 

And  with  his  finger  he  traced  the  sign  of  the  cross  upon 
the  prisoner's  forehead.  Then  the  priest  and  soldier  em- 
braced each  other.  Belle- Rose  still  wore  the  clothing  given 
him  by  Madame  de  Chateaufort.  He  took  off  his  justan- 
corps,  and  asked  the  provost  to  permit  him  to  make  a  pres- 
ent of  it  to  the  jailer ;  as  to  the  money  which  he  carried 
in  his  belt,  he  turned  it  over  to  him  for  distribution  among 
the  soldiers  who  were  serving  as  guards. 

"I  except  five  louis, "said  he,  "which  I  give  to  the 
fusileers;  I  owe  them  something  for  their  trouble." 

A  lieutenant  in  full  uniform  appeared  upon  the  threshold 
of  the  door. 

"Sergeant  Belle-Rose,  forward!"  said  he. 


120  A  WOMAN'S  HAND. 

Twenty  cannoneers  were  waiting  for  the  condemned.  All 
•were  mournful,  and  all  lowered  their  eyes  when  Belle- 
Rose  appeared,  accompanied  by  the  priest  who  kept  on 
the  right  side  of  him.  The  lieutenant  himself  appeared 
touched  and  bit  his  mustache.  Belle-Rose  saluted  the  offi- 
cer first,  then  the  soldiers,  whose  ranks  opened  to  receive 
him.  The  signal  was  given,  and  the  troop  took  up  its 
march.  The  sergeant  wore  a  vest  of  white  moire  with 
golden  net-work  which  contracted  his  waist  and  enhanced 
his  good  looks ;  his  head  was  bare,  and  his  hair,  which  he 
wore  very  long,  hung  in  curls  around  his  neck.  Half  of 
the  company  was  drawn  up  outside  of  the  barrack  of  the 
cannoneers,  under  the  orders  of  the  first  lieutenant.  It 
ranged  itself  in  line  and  took  up  the  way  to  the  ramparts. 
A  profound  silence  reigned  in  the  ranks.  From  time  to 
time,  a  soldier  coughed  and  carried  his  hand  to  his  eyes. 
Belle-Rose  smiled  at  his  comrades.  The  streets  through 
which  the  cortege  advanced  were  full  of  people ;  they  were 
to  be  seen  everywhere — along  the  houses,  before  the 
doors,  at  the  windows,  upon  the  shop-steps.  All  eyes 
sought  the  condemned  man,  a  thousand  exclamations 
came  from  the  midst  of  the  crowd,  pity  was  to  be  read 
upon  every  face.  Belle-Rose  walked  with  a  steady  gait,  and 
his  face  was  calm  and  proud ;  a  melancholy  smile  hovered 
around  his  mouth.  At  the  turn  of  the  street  the  priest  pointed 
to  the  sky ;  the  soldier  raised  his  eyes.  The  procession  ad- 
vanced slowly  in  the  midst  of  the  crowd  which  swelled 
each  minute.  It  reached  the  city  gate  and  took  its  way 
toward  a  drilling  field,  where  a  thousand  or  twelve  hun  • 
dred  men  were  drawn  up  in  line  of  battle.  Monsieur  de 
Naucrais  was  on  horseback  at  the  head  of  his  company. 
The  arms  sparkled  in  the  sun,  and  the  whole  population 
of  Cambrai  covered  the  ramparts  and  the  approaches  of 
the  drilling  field.  When  the  procession  appeared  outside 
the  gates,  the  drums  beat,  the  officers  drew  their  swords, 
and  the  troop  shouldered  arms.  Belle-Rose  raised  his  fore- 
head, bowed  for  a  moment  under  the  weight  of  recollec- 
tions, and  threw  a  firm  glance  at  the  ranks  of  the  soldiers. 
Just  as  his  escort  entered  the  fatal  inclosure,  a  confused 
noise  rose  up  from  the  midst  of  the  crowd,  a  thousand 
heads  were  agitated,  and  distant  cries  were  heard.  The 
crowd  which  came  from  Cambrai  rushed  forward,  and 
its  waves  beat  against  the  detachment  in  charge  of  Belle- 
Rose. 

"Pardon!  pardon!"  the  crowd  cried,  and  this  word  alone 
rose  above  the  tumult. 


A  WOMAN'S  HAND.  121 

Believing  that  the  crowd  wished  to  deliver  the  prisoner 
by  violence,  the  lieutenant  in  command  of  the  escort  gave 
orders  to  close  the  ranks  and  make  ready  arms.  But  at 
the  moment  the  order  was  being  executed  a  man  on  horse- 
back was  seen  to  rush  through  the  city  gate.  The  man  was 
covered  with  mud  and  dust,  the  horse  was  panting,  and 
its  flanks,  white  with  foam,  were  stained  with  drops  of 
blood.  The  cavalier,  no  longer  having  a  voice  to  cry  out, 
brandished  in  the  air  a  paper  sealed  with  red  wax.  The 
crowd  made  way  for  him  with  a  thousand  cries  of  joy, 
and  the  cavalier  came  up  at  a  gallop,  as  Monsieur  de  Nau- 
crais  was  running,  sword  in  hand,  toward  the  cortege 
whose  ranks  opened.  The  horse  passed  like  a  thunderbolt 
and  fell  at  the  major's  feet;  but  the  cavalier  was  already 
on  his  feet,  and  presenting  the  paper  stamped  with  the 
royal  seal.  The  officers  grouped  themselves  around  the 
major ;  the  crowd  was  silent,  and  a  thousand  soldiers,  for- 
getting discipline,  inclined  their  heads  forward.  They 
could  hear  nothing,  but  they  listened.  Disorder  prevailed 
everywhere.  All  at  once  the  circle  of  officers  was  broken, 
and  Monsieur  de  Naucrais,  holding  the  paper  in  one  hand 
and  his  hat  in  the  other,  rode  away  at  a  headlong  pace. 
His  countenance,  so  mournful  an  hour  before,  was  radiant. 
Ho  waved  his  hat  in  the  air,  and  in  a  thundering  voice 
cried,  "  Vive  le  roiV"  It  was  not  yet  known  of  what  it  was 
a  question,  and  all  the  soldiers  and  all  the  people  re- 
sponded at  the  same  time,  and  the  cry  of,  "Viveleroi!" 
rolled  like  a  clap  of  thunder  from  the  ramparts  to  the 
plains  beyond.  Then  all  was  silent.  You  might  have  heard 
the  lark  singing  in  the  depths  of  the  sky.  Monsieur  de 
Naucrais  raised  himself  in  his  stirrups. 

"Sergeant  Belle-Rose,  approach!"  he  exclaimed. 

Belle-Rose  advanced  ten  steps. 

"Jacques  Grinedal,  otherwise  known  as  Belle-Rose,  ser- 
geant in  the  company  of  cannoneers,"  continued  Monsieur 
de  Naucrais,  "the  king,  our  master,  acquits  you  and  dis- 
charges you  from  the  penalty  of  death  which  you  have  in- 
curred through  the  crime  of  desertion,  and  permits  you  to 
resume  the  dress  and  insignia  of  your  grade.  Therefore 
be  it  done  according  to  his  will.  Vive  le  rot'/" 

The  whole  troop  repeated  this  cry,  at  the  same  time 
placing  their  hats  upon  the  ends  of  their  guns,  and  the 
crowd  clapped  their  hands  with  transports  of  joy.  Belle- 
Rose  could  have  been  pardoned  for  thinking  himself  an 
important  personage.  The  youth,  good  looks,  and  courage 
of  the  condemned,  had  for  an  hour  transformed  him  into 


122  A  WOMAN'S  HAND. 

a  hero.  Dead,  he  would  have  been  forgotten  next  day; 
living,  the  crowd  was  carried  away  by  enthusiasm.  But 
Belle-Rose  thought  of  nothing.  What  he  had  just  heard 
appeared  to  him  a  dream.  Monsieur  de  Naucrais  did  not 
think  this  a  time  for  hiding  his  satisfaction.  In  the  presence 
of  the  whole  garrison  he  embraced  the  sergeant,  who  was 
touched  more  by  this  demonstration  of  affection  than  by 
all  the  tumult  of  which  he  was  the  object.  At  this  mo- 
ment, the  cavalier  who  had  brought  the  glad  news  ap- 
proached Belle-Rose,  and  taking  him  by  the  sleeve,  softly 
said  to  him : 

"And  will  you  not  embrace  me,  too?" 

Belle-Rose  turned  round  and  found  himself  in  the  arms 
of  Cornelius  O'Brien. 

Half  an  hour  after  the  scene  which  we  have  just  re- 
lated, Belle-Rose,  Cornelius  O'Brien,  and  Monsieur  de 
Naucrais  were  gathered  together  in  the  captain's  room. 

"You  undoubtedly  have  some  things  to  say  to  each 
other,"  said  Monsieur  de  Naucrais  to  the  two  friends; 
"Belle-Rose  has  well  earned  for  to-day  a  ten-hours'  leave, 
so  remain  together  and  dine  at  your  ease,  here  or  else- 
where, as  you  prefer.  Some  papers  have  just  arrived  from 
Paris  which  I  must  examine." 

The  death  which  he  had  seen  so  close,  rendered  life  more 
sweet  to  Belle-Rose.  If  the  same  causes  for  grief  subsisted, 
the  voluntary  gift  which  he  had  made  of  his  young  exist- 
ence seemed  to  him  a  sufficient  sacrifice,  and  despair  no 
longer  had  the  right  to  ask  anything  of  him.  The  sacrifice 
had  been  offered,  fate  had  refused  him,  so  they  were 
quits.  Oftentimes  it  so  happens  that  even  the  siucerest 
souls  make  such  compromises  as  these,  which  explains 
things  apparently  inexplicable.  The  sergeant,  miracu- 
lously saved,  did  not  perceive  the  transformation  which 
was  taking  place  in  him ;  but  at  sight  of  Cornelius,  who 
was  extending  his  hand  to  him  across  the  table,  he  took  a 
glass  of  Spanish  wine,  swallowed  it  at  a  draught,  and, 
with  his  heart  bounding  joyfully,  he  understood  that 
there  was  still  room  in  the  future  for  youth,  hope,  and 
love. 

"I  owe  you  my  life,  then!"  exclaimed  Belle-Rose, 
pressing  the  hand  of  the  Irish  gentleman.  "One  day  my 
honor,  the  next  day  my  head ;  if  you  keep  on  in  this  fash- 
ion, how  shall  I  repay  you?" 

"It  will  be  more  easy  to  do  than  you  think, "  replied 
Cornelius. 

"Speak  quickly! 


A  WOMAN'S  HAND.  123 

"Presently  will  be  time  enough.  If  you  consent  at  once, 
I  should  be  too  much  your  debtor.  Besides  you  only  owe 
me  the  half  of  the  debt  of  which  you  just  now  spoke." 

"Only  the  half?" 

"Eh!  undoubtedly!  That  parchment  which  saved  you 
from  the  balls  I  brought,  but  did  not  obtain. ' ' 

"What!  it  is  not  you " 

"Eh!  my  God,  no." 

"But  who,  then?" 

"Parbleu!  some  one  who  seems  to  love  you  madly." 

Belle-Rose  blushed. 

"You  understand,"  continued  Cornelius. 

"No,  really,  lam  seeking " 

"If  you  seek,  'tis  that  you  have  found.  Is  it  necessary 
to  name  to  you  madame ' ' 

' 'Marquise  d' Albergotti. ' ' 

"No— the  Duchess  de  Chateauf ort. " 

At  this  name  Belle-Rose  trembled, 

"Had  it  not  been  for  her,  you  would  now  be  dead!"  con- 
tinued Cornelius.  "What  gratitude  do  you  not  ewe  her? 
How  much  she  has  done  to  save  you!" 

The  name  of  Madame  de  Chateaufort  had  agitated  Belle- 
Rose's  mind.  He  bowed  his  head  and  remained  silent. 

"It  is  a  curious  story,"  said  Cornelius.  "Where  men  are 
powerless,  women  succeed.  I  know  of  no  better  pass-key 
than  a  woman's  white  hand;  it  opens  at  the  same  time 
consciences  and  locks.  When  your  letter  reached  Paris, 
where  I  remained  without  well  knowing  why,"  continued 
the  Irishman,  blushing  a  little,  "it  plunged  me  into  a 
great  einbarassment.  What  to  do  and  where  to  go?  I  be- 
gan by  running  to  the  country  to  see  your  sister,  Made- 
moiselle Claudine " 

"Ah!"  said  Belle-Rose,  who  did  not  fail  to  remark  the 
gentleman's  emotion  on  pronouncing  this  name. 

"Yes;  she  is  a  young  lady  who  has  more  sense  than  her 
gay  eyes  and  sly  smile  would  indicate.  I  expected  good  ad- 
vice from  her  and  found  her  in  tears ;  she  had,  like  my- 
self, received  a  note  in  which  you  revealed  your  intention 
of  presenting  yourself  before  the  court-martial  at  Cam- 
brai.  She  would  have  addressed  herself  to  Madame  d' Al- 
bergotti ;  unfortunately  this  lady's  husband  was  at  Com- 
piegne,  and  you  would  have  had  ten  chances  to  be  shot 
before  his  intervention  could  be  of  any  service.  Not  know- 
ing what  to  decide  upon,  I  took  at  hazard  the  way  to  Mon- 
sieur de  Louvois'  hotel.  I  passed  under  the  porte  cochere,  I 
mounted  a  stair- way,  and  entered  a  hall  where  several  per- 


124  A  WOMAN'S  HAND. 

sons  were  gathered  together.  A  door  was  in  front  of  me, 
I  was  going  straight  on,  when  an  usher  intercepted  me. 
'What  do  you  desire?'  he  said  to  me.  At  these  words,  I 
took  a  desperate  resolution.  'Can  I  not  speak  to  His  Ex- 
cellency the  Minister?'  I  said  to  the  usher.  'Monseigneur 
is  busy ;  but  you  will  enter  in  your  turn ;  what  name  must 
I  annoiince  to  His  Excellency?'  'He  does  not  know  me.' 
'You  have  then  a  letter  of  introduction?'  'I  have  nothing.' 
'In  that  case  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  introduce  you  to 

monsieur  le  ministre.  Nevertheless '  'Do  not  insist, 

my  instructions  forbid  it. '  At  this  point  the  door  opened,  a 
gentleman  withdrew,  another  presented  himself.  The 
usher  left  me,  and  I  was  alone  with  my  reflections.  All 
those  who  were  waiting  entered  one  after  the  other,  the 
hour  passed,  and  despair  took  possession  of  me." 

"Poor  Cornelius!"  murmured  Belle-Rose. 

"In  my  distress  I  was  about  to  leave  for  St.  Germain 
and  throw  myself  at  the  feet  of  the  king,  when  all  at  once 
a  lady  passes  the  door  and  takes  her  course  toward  the 
minister's  cabinet.  The  usher  rises  and  bows  respectfully. 
'Monsieur  de  Louvois?'  said  the  lady.  'Monseigneur  is 
busy.'  'Give  him  my  name,  I  must  speak  to  him  at  once.' 
The  usher  disappeared.  There  are  certain  things  which 
are  a  revelation.  The  accent  and  bearing  of  the  lady  make 
me  understand  her  power.  'Madame!' I  exclaimed,  going 
to  her,  'deign  to  accord  me  a  favor.'  'What  is  it?'  said  she, 
turning  around.  For  a  moment  I  was  dazzled.  The  lady's 
glance  was  imperious,  her  lips  haughty,  her  cheeks  pale ; 
but  she  was  as  beautiful  as  a  fairy  queen.  'Madame, '  I  re- 
plied, 'it  concerns  a  poor  sergeant  whc  has  deserted.' 
Then  she  approaches  and  looks  at  me.  'He  has  an  old 
father,  a  young  sister,  and  is  just  twenty.'  'His  name, ' 
said  she  interrupting  me.  'Belle-Rose. '  The  lady  utters  a 
cry  and  totters.  I  rush  to  her  support,  but  already  re- 
covered from  her  emotion,  she  extends  her  hand  to  me. 
'And  you  come  to  save  him?  You  are  a  brave  gentleman!' 
It  seemed  to  me  that  a  tear  dimmed  the  lady's  eye.  'But  it 
is  quite  natural,'  I  said  to  her,  'I  love  him,  and  I  love  his 
sister. ' ' ' 

Cornelius  blushed  and  stopped  himself  brusquely  like  a 
horse  who  has  just  set  foot  on  the  border  of  a  precipice. 
Belle-Rose  raised  his  head.  A  soft  smile  lit  up  his  face 
just  now  so  somber. 

"At  last  we  have  that  great  secret." 

"Have  I  spoken?  well,  let  it  go;  I  will  confirm  it  pres- 
ently ;  in  the  meantime,  let  me  continue  my  story ;  I  will 


A  WOMAN'S  HAND.  125 

come  to  my  affairs  presently.  I  believe  that  the  lady  did 
not  hear  me,  for  she  said:  'But  what  risk  does  he  run?' 
'The  risk  of  being  shot,  that  is  all.'  She  grew  pale.  'Oh!' 
she  exclaimed,  'they  still  shoot  people,  then?'  'They  cer- 
tainly do. '  'What  shall  we  do,  then?  Supposing  I  prevent 
his  trial?'  'Before  that  order  could  arrive,  he  will  be  con- 
demned. '  'My  God !  advice !  advice !  but  I,  too,  have  come 
in  his  interest!'  'Well,  madame,  what  we  need  is  his  par- 
don.' 'His  pardon!  I  will  obtain  it,  but  who  will  carry 
it  to  him?'  'I  will;  unless  I  am  killed  on  the  road,  I  will 
arrive  in  time  to  save  him.'  'Wait  for  me  here — I  shall 
return  presently, '  and  she  disappeared  through  the  door 
which  the  usher  had  just  opened.  I  remained  alone  for 
some  minutes,  which  appeared  a  century  to  me.  A  thou- 
sand depressing  reflections  saddened  my  mind.  Had  this 
unknown  woman  the  power  which  I  supposed  she  pos- 
sessed? was  the  interest  which  she  affected  real?  Pres- 
ently the  door  opens  and  the  lady  appears.  I  saw  nothing 
this  time  except  the  parchment  which  she  held  in  the  tips 
of  her  snowy  fingers.  'Hold,'  she  said  to  me,  'here  is  the 
royal  seal — you  have  his  life  in  your  hand.  Go!'  Her 
countenance  was  radiant.  I  bowed  over  her  hand  and 
kissed  it.  'Your  name,  madame,  so  that  his  father,  his 
sister,  and  he  himself  may  bless  you?'  'My  name?  I  am 
the  Duchess  de  Chateaufort,  but  do  not  tell  him. ' ' 

"So  she  wished  to  favor  me  without  my  knowing  it, " 
said  Belle-Rose. 

"Three  times  she  recommended  to  me  the  most  absolute 
silence,  but  I  have  not  kept  that  promise.  There  is  no 
hatred  or  fault  which  a  similar  service  does  not  wipe  out. 
I  went  out  with  Madame  de  Chateaufort,  whose  carriage 
was  waiting  for  her  before  the  hotel.  'Make  haste, '  she 
said  to  me,  and  pressing  my  hand,  she  drove  away.  Half 
an  hour  later,  I  was  galloping  at  headlong  speed  over  the 
road  to  Cambrai. " 

"And  you  arrived  at  the  right  time." 

"I  do  not  know  what  fear  scourged  my  soul,  as  I  spurred 
on  my  horse,  but  at  each  relay  I  rode  faster.  A  voice  cried 
to  me  that  your  life  depended  on  my  speed,  and  I  passed 
like  a  bullet  over  the  route. ' ' 

"And  it  is  to  Madame  de  Chateaufort  I  owe  this  exist- 
ence so  many  times  threatened!" 

Just  then  Monsieur  de  Naucrais  entered  the  room. 

"Lieutenant,"  said  he,  "the  time  for  conversation  is 
past.  The  hour  for  departure  has  come. " 


126  A  WOMAN'S  HAND. 

"Lieutenant!"  exclaimed  Belle-Rose  and  Cornelius  at 
the  same  time;  "to  whom  do  you  speak,  captain?" 

"But  to  you,  Belle-Rose;  read  for  yourself." 

And  Monsieur  de  Naucrais  extended  to  the  young  man  a 
paper  adorned  with  the  arms  of  the  king. 

"I  found  this  commission  among  the  papers  sent  me 
from  Paris.  It  is  regular,  and  you  have  nothing  left  but  to 
obey." 

"A  lieutenancy  for  me!"  said  Belle-Rose. 

"The  minister  does  things  well  when  he  does  them,"  re- 
sumed Monsieur  de  Naucrais;  "pardon,  promotion,  and 
also  a  hundred  louis  for  your  outfit.  Here  is  the  order  for 
them ;  the  treasurer  of  the  regiment  will  count  them  out 
to  you  to-morrow. ' ' 

Monsieur  de  Naucrais  enjoyed  the  surprise  and  emotion 
of  Belle-Rose,  whose  gaze  went  from  Cornelius  to  the  cap- 
tain, and  from  the  captain  to  the  commission. 

"You  will  have  the  reversion  of  Monsieur  de  Villebrais, " 
continued  Monsieur  de  Naucrais,  "of  Monsieur  de  Ville- 
brais, whom  the  corps  of  officers  dismisses  from  the  bat- 
talion while  waiting  for  him  to  render  an  account  to  God 
for  his  infamy." 

"Heaven  grant  that  he  may  cross  my  path!"  exclaimed 
Belle-Rose. 

"It  is  a  quarrel  of  which  I  should  take  half,"  said  the 
captain,  "if  he  was  worthy  of  our  hatred.  But  let  time  do 
its  work.  The  day  which  begins  badly  ends  well,  Belle- 
Rose,  and  the  good  news  comes  in  quick  succession.  To- 
morrow we  leave  for  the  northern  frontier." 

"Does  it  mean  war?" 

"It  means  war,  and  our  battalion  is  attached  to  the 
corps  commanded  by  the  Due  de  Luxembourg.  He  is  a 
valiant  warrior,  and  under  his  orders  you  will  promptly 
find  occasion  to  flush  your  maiden  sword.  Hold  yourself 
in  readiness ;  the  trumpets  will  sound  to-morrow  at  day- 
break." 

"Parbleu!  Belle-Rose,"  exclaimed  Cornelius,  when  Mon- 
sieur de  Naucrais  had  withdrawn  to  watch  over  the  last 
preparations  for  departure,  "fortune  treats  you  like  the 
coquette  she  is.  After  having  sulked  for  an  hour,  she 
overwhelms  you  with  favors." 

"I  have  as  yet  done  nothing  to  earn  them,  but  I  hope 
the  Spaniards  will  aid  me  to  deserve  them. ' ' 

"Now  that  your  affairs  are  progressing  nicely,  will  you 
permit  me  to  recall  mine  to  you?" 

"Yours,  my  dear  Cornelius?  but  I  know  them  as  well  as 


A  WOMAN'S  HAND.  127 

you.  You  love  a  little  girl  who  is  my  sister,  and  from  the 
manner  in  which  you  look  at  me,  I  have  every  reason  to 
believe  that  this  sister  returns  this  love  with  her  whole 
soul." 

"It  is  my  cherished  belief." 

""Pis  very  well,  and  I  approve  of  her  having  placed  her 
affections  so  well.  But  as  she  is  an  honest  girl,  just  as 
you  are  an  honest  man,  I  see  insurmountable  difficulties  to 
the  happy  ending  of  this  mutual  affection." 

"And  what  are  they,  if  you  please?" 

"In  the  first  place,  my  sister  is  thoroughly  plebeian, 
being  the  daughter  of  a  simple  falconer." 

"That  is  something  to  which  my  family  alone  would 
have  the  right  to  offer  an  objection,  and  as  I  alone  consti- 
tute my  f amity,  you  will  find  it  good,  I  hope,  that  my 
nobility  reconciles  itself  to  your  plebeian  state." 

' '  Nevertheless ' ' 

"Enough  on  that  line.  Besides,  if  you  persist  therein, 
do  not  forget  that  you  are  an  officer  now ;  the  sword  en- 
nobles. ' ' 

"Agreed!  but  Claudine  has  almost  nothing." 

"That  almost  nothing  borders  so  close  on  my  very  little 
that,  without  being  much  compromised,  my  fortune  can 
ally  itself  to  her  poverty." 

"You  have  a  logic  which  does  not  permit  me  to  con- 
tinue. Behold  my  obstacles  overthrown. " 

"That  is  what  I  counted  upon;  so  you  consent?" 

"And  the  king's  post  will  count  two  or  three  foundered 
horses  the  more." 

"So  much  the  worse  for  them — it  is  their  business  to 
run." 

"Is  it  ours  to  construct  fine  projects  which  a  cannon- 
ball  may  upset?" 

"Bah!  half  of  people's  lives  is  passed  in  building  plans; 
it  is  so  much  gained  upon  the  other  half." 

"Therefore  you  will  leave?" 

"To-morrow,  at  sunrise.  You  will  go  to  Flanders  and  I 
to  Artois." 

"And  from  there  to  Paris?" 

"No,  to  the  army,  to  you." 

"You  will  enter  our  ranks?" 

"Unquestionably!  An  Irishman  is  half  a  Frenchman. 
We  will  fight  first,  and  I  shall  get  married  afterward." 


128  THE  DUG  DE  LUXEMBOURG. 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THE  DUO  DE  LUXEMBOURG, 

The  war  of  1667  was  the  prelude  of  that  great  war  of 
1672,  which  announced  itself  like  "a  thunderbolt  in  a 
serene  sky,"  to  make  use  of  the  expression  of  the  Cheva- 
lier Temple  apropos  of  the  invasion  of  Holland.  A  hun- 
dred thousand  men  moving  at  the  same  time,  traversed 
the  Meuse  and  the  Sainbre  and  conquered  Flanders  with 
the  rapidity  of  lightning.  France  presented  then  a  mag- 
nificent spectacle.  A  young  and  elegant  king,  in  love  with 
all  great  and  glorious  things,  attracted  to  his  court  the 
choicest  intelligences  scattered  throughout  the  kingdom. 
Moliere  and  Racine  made  the  French  stage  the  first  in  the 
world ;  Louvois  and  Colbert  administered  public  affairs ; 
Conde  and  Turenne  were  at  the  head  of  the  army ;  the  most 
famous  poets,  the  most  illustrious  writers,  the  most  cele- 
brated women,  the  most  eminent  prelates,  a  crowd  of  men 
distinguished  by  their  science,  their  wit,  and  their  virtues, 
filled  Paris  with  a  renown  which  extended  even  to  the 
ends  of  Europe.  It  was  an  imposing  gathering  of  orators, 
generals,  savants,  literary  men,  ministers,  and  great  ladies 
such  as  is  rarely  to  be  met  with  in  the  history  of  empires. 
France  was  at  the  same  time  enlightened  and  powerful,  it 
had  the  double  authority  of  arms  and  letters,  and  its 
supremacy  extended  to  all  things — to  those  of  the  nand  as 
well  as  to  those  political ;  it  commanded  by  the  sword  and 
governed  by  the  pen.  During  the  brief  respites  of  peace, 
the  nations  which  had  conquered  in  war  carne  to  instruct 
themselves  at  that  center  of  light  which  shone  in  the 
middle  of  Europe,  in  that  marvelous  Paris  which  produces 
philosophers  or  soldiers,  books  or  revolutions  for  guiding 
the  world.  Louis  XIV.  advised  by  Cardinal  Mazarin,  had 
signed  on  the  7th  of  November,  1659,  the  Treaty  of  the 
Pyrenees — the  loss  of  the  battle  of  Dunes,  the  taking  of 
Dunkirk,  of  Gravelines,  of  Oudenarde  and  other  important 
places,  having  decided  Spain  to  propose  a  treaty  which 
was  accepted.  By  the  peace  signed  in  the  lie  des  Faisaus, 
Louis  XIV.  obtained  the  concession  of  Artois,  Rousillon, 
Perpignan,  Mariembourg,  Laudrecies,  Thionville,  Philippe- 
ville,  Gravelines,  Montmedy,  and  the  hand  of  Maria 
Theresa,  daughter  of  Philip  IV.,  and  also  Infanta  of  Spain. 
Louis  XIV.,  master  at  home,  now  began  to  think  of  be- 


THE  DUG  DE  LUXEMBOURG.  129 

coming  master  outside  of  it.  For  eight  years,  he  applied 
himself  to  cementing  alliances,  to  neutralizing  the  efforts 
of  powers  whose  rivalry  was  to  be  dreaded,  to  making 
everywhere  blaze  the  supremacy  of  France.  Spain  recog- 
nized the  precedence  of  France  as  the  result  of  a  quarrel 
at  London  between  the  ambassadors  of  the  two  countries ; 
Pope  Alexander  V.  is  constrained  to  disavow,  by  a  public 
reparation,  the  insult  offered  to  the  French  ambassador  by 
his  Corsican  guard ;  Dunkirk  and  Mardick  are  purchased 
from  the  English  for  five  million  francs ;  the  alliance  with 
Switzerland  is  renewed,  Marsul  in  Lorraine  is  taken,  the 
Algerian  pirates  are  punished,  the  Portuguese  sustained 
against  the  Spaniards,  and  the  Emperor  Leopold  receives 
a  reinforcement  of  six  thousand  volunteers  who  aid  him 
to  fight  the  Turks  and  take  a  glorious  part  in  the  battle  of 
St.  Gothard.  In  the  meantime  the  King  of  France  was 
waiting  for  his  hour  to  come ;  the  most  skilful  generals 
commanded  his  army ;  the  navy  was  increased ;  he  let  his 
ally,  Holland,  exhaust  herself  in  a  sterile  and  ruinous  war 
against  England,  and  was  holding  himself  in  readiness  to 
act,  when  the  death  of  Philip  IV.  permitted  him  at  last  to 
try  his  strength.  But  while  formidable  preparations 
seemed  to  threaten  entire  Europe,  fetes  filled  with  splen- 
dor the  royal  residences  of  Versailles  and  St.  Germain,  the 
stage  attracted  illustrious  strangers,  everywhere  rose  up 
splendid  monuments,  and  the  most  polished  as  well  as  the 
most  brilliant  court  in  the  world  saw  its  days  pass  in  the 
midst  of  the  pomp  of  triumphant  royalty  and  the  marvels 
of  honored  intelligence.  All  at  once,  in  the  midst  of  this 
fruitful  peace,  embellished  by  the  thousand  creations  of  the 
arts,  war  burst  out,  and  upon  all  the  frontiers  of  the  north 
the  fires  are  lit.  The  king  himself  crosses  the  Sambre,  ac- 
companied by  the  best  captains  of  the  time — Conde, 
Turenne,  Luxembourg,  Crequi,  Grammont,  and  Vauban. 
In  this  general  commotion,  the  shocks  were  so  sudden  and 
so  profound,  that  even  the  most  insignificant,  pushed  for- 
ward by  the  chances  of  fortune,  might  aspire  to  the  first 
places.  When  great  wars  or  social  upheavals  agitate 
nations,  audacity,  intelligence,  knowledge,  are  stepping- 
stones  ;  the  levels  are  lowered,  and  those  who  are  at  the 
bottom  may  hope  to  mount.  It  belongs  then  to  those  who 
have  the  energy  to  open  a  way.  All  these  thoughts  rapidly 
traversed  Belle-Rose's  mind ;  he  glimpsed  the  light  on  the 
horizon  and  ardently  prayed  for  the  hour  of  combat.  The 
next  day,  at  daybreak,  Monsieur  de  Naucrais  sent  for  him 
in  order  to  confide  to  him  the  organization  and  command 


130  THE  DUG  DE  LUXEMBOURG. 

of  a  corps  of  recruits  -which  had  just  been  brought  to 
Cambrai. 

"I  will  precede  you  at  the  head  of  my  old  soldiers, "  the 
captain  said  to  him,  "You  will  rejoin  me  at  Charleroi,  and 
the  sooner  the  better." 

Belle-Rose  -would  have  preferred  to  leave  at  once,  but  it 
•was  necessary  to  obey ;  the  mission  -with  which  he  was 
charged  was  besides  a  proof  of  confidence ;  he  resigned 
himself  and  saw  leave  at  the  same  hour  Cornelius  and 
Monsieur  de  Naucrais,  the  former  for  St.  Orner  and  the 
latter  for  Charleroi.  The  reader  will  readily  divine  that 
Corporal  Deroute  had  not  been  the  last  to  compliment 
Belle-Rose  upon  his  new  grade. 

"I  no  longer  think  of  the  epaulettes,"  had  said  the  poor 
corporal,  "the  only  thing  to  which  I  aspire  at  present  is  to 
be  under  your  orders.  If  you  permit  me  to  no  longer  quit 
you,  I  shall  be  the  happiest  of  men. " 

"We  will  look  after  that  when  we  reach  the  army. 
Monsieur  de  Naucrais  will  certainly  grant  me  this  authori- 
zation, which  will  give  me  as  much  pleasure  as  yourself." 

After  this  assurance,  Deroute,  full  of  joy,  took  his  way 
to  the  ramparts,  where  the  company  was  drawn  up  in 
line.  As  he  started  to  take  his  place  in  the  ranks,  Mon- 
sieur de  Naucrais  called  him : 

"Eh,  rascal!  where  are  you  running  to?" 

"I  am  running  to  my  soldiers.  I  have  lost  a  little  time, 
but  I  will  repay  you  by  pike  thrusts  in  the  stomachs  of 
the  Spaniards." 

"You  speak  of  pikes;  what  have  you  done  with  your 
halberd?" 

"My  halberd?"  repeated  the  stupefied  corporal. 

"Parbleu,  I  express  myself  in  French,  I  imagine !  You 
have  not  been  told  that  you  were  a  sergeant,  or  perhaps 
you  have  forgotten  it?" 

"I!  a  sergeant!" 

"You  have  been  one  for  three  hours." 

"I  have  only  been  out  of  the  lock-up  for  an  hour." 

"And  you  will  go  there  again  if  you  do  not  quickly  don 
the  insignia  of  your  grade. ' ' 

Deroute,  thoroughly  stupefied,  saluted  the  captain  and 
went  away.  He  was  very  much  perplexed  over  the  motives 
which  prompted  his  promotion.  If  he  had  deserved  to  be 
punished,  why  had  he  been  given  the  halberd  before  the 
expiation  of  his  penalty?  But  if  his  conduct,  on  the  con- 
trary, called  for  a  reward,  why  had  they  begun  by  im- 
prisoning him?  Again,  was  the  captain  pleased  or  dis- 


THE  DUC  DE  LCXEilBOUBG.  131 

pleased?  This  double  question  troubled  the  understanding 
of  poor  Deroute ;  it  was  a  puzzle  which  he  could  not  solve. 

While  his  company  was  marching  toward  the  northern 
frontier  Belle-Rose  hurried  as  much  as  possible  the  organi- 
zation of  his  recruits.  He  displayed  so  much  activity  that 
in  a  few  days  his  squad  was  ready  to  leave,  so  that  he 
reached  the  army  before  the  opening  of  the  campaign. 
The  Army  of  Flanders  was  commanded  by  the  Prince  de 
Conde,  who  had  under  his  orders  the  Due  de  Luxembourg, 
the  Due  d'Dumont,  and  other  generals.  The  battalion  of 
artillery  of  which  Monsieur  de  Naucrais'  company  formed 
a  part  belonged  to  the  corps  of  Monsieur  de  Luxembourg, 
and  was  one  of  the  first  assembled  upon  the  banks  of  the 
Sambre,  at  Charleroi.  When  Belle-Rose  reached  the  camp, 
night  had  fallen.  He  made  himself  recognized  by  the 
sentinels,  distributed  his  men,  and,  learning  that  Mon- 
sieur de  Naucrais  was  absent  on  some  affairs  of  the  service, 
he  entered  the  tent  which  had  been  prepared  for  him. 
Belle-Rose  had  just  unbuckled  his  belt  and  thrown  aside 
Lis  coat,  when  Deroute  made  his  appearance.  The  sergeant 
had  a  depressed  countenance  and  a  mournful  look,  but  in 
the  claro  obscuro  of  the  tent,  his  lieutenant  did  not  at 
first  perceive  it 

"Eh!  'tis  you,  my  poor  Deroute?  Yours  is  the  first 
friendly  face  I  have  met  here;  so  welcome.  Are  you  well?" 

"Passably,  thanks.  It  would  be  a  good  thing  if  every 
one  was  as  well  as  myself. " 

Belle-Rose  approached  Deroute  and  looked  at  him.  It 
was  only  then  that  he  was  struck  by  the  dejection  of  his 
countenance. 

"Speak !  what  has  happened?"  he  said  to  him. 

"A  great  misfortune — I  do  not  know  how  to  tell  you " 

"Whom  does  it  concern?" 

"Our  captain. " 

"Monsieur  de  Naucrais!  But  I  have  just  come  from  the 
quarters,  and  was  told  that  he  was  absent  on  some  affair 
connected  with  the  service." 

"Apparently  they  did  not  yet  know  anything  about  it." 

"And  what  do  you  know?" 

"Monsieur  de  Naucrais  is  in  prison." 

"He!  and  why?" 

"He  has  disobeyed  the  general's  orders." 

"An  infraction  of  discipline  on  the  part  of  our  captain! 
It  is  impossible." 

"I  tell  you  that  I  have  seen  him.  Would  I  tell  you  so  if 
it  were  otherwise?" 


132  THE  DUG  DE  LUXEMBOURG. 

"But  how  has  it  come  about?" 

"I  do  not  know  as  yet!  But  what  could  you  expect? 
Since  his  brother's  death,  Monsieur  de  Naucrais  has  not 
been  himself." 

"But  tell  me  how  it  happened." 

"This  is  the  way:  You  must  first  know  that  the  Due  de 
Luxembourg  has,  by  an  order  of  the  day,  forbidden  the 
soldiers  to  venture  beyond  a  certain  limit  around  the 
camp ;  above  all  he  has  prescribed,  under  penalty  of  death, 
the  avoidance  of  every  species  of  engagement  with  the 
enemy.  The  proclamation  has  been  posted  everywhere, 
and  read  at  the  mess.  It  is  whispered  around  that  Mon- 
sieur de  Luxembourg  wishes  to  wait  for  the  arrival  of  the 
king  before  acting,  who,  as  you  know,  is  to  take  part  in 
person  in  the  operations." 

"Drop  the  king,  and  come  to  Monsieur  de  Naucrais." 

"Now,  at  noon  to-day,  Monsieur  de  Naucrais  was  riding 
on  horseback  in  the  direction  of  Gosselies.  He  was  accom- 
panied by  some  officers  of  the  queen's  dragoons  and  by 
the  Nivernais  regiment.  A  party  of  Spanish  skirmishers 
had  passed  the  Pielou  and  were  pillaging  a  hamlet.  All  at 
once  a  cornet  of  dragoons,  who  had  come  straight  from 
the  court  to  the  camp,  draws  his  sword.  'Devil  take  the 
orders!' he  exclaimed;  'it  shall  not  be  said  that  an  officer 
of  the  king  saw  the  king's  flag  burnt  without  unsheathing 
his  sword. '  He  sets  spurs  to  his  horse  and  leaves.  The 
officers  stop.  'Shall  we  leave  him  without  defense,  mes- 
sieurs?' exclaims  Monsieur  de  Naucrais,  in  his  turn,  who 
was  urging  on  his  horse  in  the  direction  of  the  hamlet. 
The  rest  follow  him.  'Mordieu !  they  are  killing  him, '  said 
the  captain,  'forward,  and  vive  le  roH"1 ' 

"You  took  part  in  the  affair,  then?" 

"Faith,  being  close  by,  I  had  seen  the  whole  thing,  and 
I  have  gone  where  my  captain  went.  Monsieur  de  Nau- 
crais seemed  a  lion.  Bare-headed,  coat  torn  in  twenty 
places,  crying,  lVive  le  roi'  between  each  blow.  The 
frightened  Spaniards  broke  ranks.  To  sum  up,  we  had  lost 
thirty  men,  without  counting  the  wounded ;  but  we  had 
the  village  and  the  redoubt.  When  we  were  masters  of  the 
place,  Monsieur  de  Naucrais  marshaled  the  officers  around 
him.  'Messieurs,'  he  said  to  them,  'we  have  committed  a 
fault ;  it  is  grave.  I  am  the  most  guilty — therefore  it  is 
mine.'  'It  is  ours,  too!'  cried  these  brave  gentlemen. 
'Then,  as  the  oldest  one  among  you, '  continued  the  cap- 
tain, 'it  is  my  duty  to  render  an  account  to  the  Due  de 
Luxembourg  of  what  has  taken  place. '  Monsieur  de  Nau- 


THE  DUG  DE  LUXEMBOCKG.  133 

crais  threw  aside  his  notched  saber,  and  tranquilly  took 
up  the  way  to  the  general's  quarters.  He  reached  it  an 
hour  ago,  and  only  left  it  to  go  from  the  general's  apart- 
ments to  prison." 

"Are  you  sure  of  it?" 

"I  met  him,  and,  having  seen  me,  he  made  me  a  sign  to 
approach." 

"  'My  fate  is  sealed,  Deroute,'  he  said  to  me.  'If  Belle- 
Rose  arrives  during  the  night,  tell  him  to  try  to  see  me. 
An  hour  after  sunrise  it  will  be  too  late." 

Belle-Rose  drew  on  his  coat,  buckled  his  belt,  and  picked 
up  his  hat. 

'You  are  going  to  join  him,  lieutenant?"  said  Deroute. 

'No,  I  am  not." 

'But  where  are  you  going,  then?" 

'To  see  the  duke." 

'He  will  not  receive  you;  there  is  a  council  to-night." 

'I  will  force  my  entrance." 

'My  lieutenant,  take  care " 

'Of  what?" 

'You  risk  your  life." 

'Well !  I  shall  lose  my  life  or  save  his. " 
Belle-Rose,  without  listening  any  longer  to  Deroute, 
passed  the  door  and  rapidly  took  his  course  toward  the 
general's  quarters.  Deroute  followed  him  from  a  distance. 
The  first  sentinels  let  him  pass,  his  epaulettes  and  the  dis- 
order of  his  costume  causing  him  to  be  taken  for  an  aid- 
de-camp  charged  with  an  order  from  the  Prince  de  Conde. 
But  at  the  entrance  to  the  house  tenanted  by  the  general, 
a  grenadier  stopped  him. 

'No  one  is  allowed  to  pass,"  ha  said  to  him. 

'Monsieur  de  Luxembourg  expects  me,"  boldly  replied 
Belle-Rose. 

'The  word  of  order?" 

'I  have  it  not." 

'Then  you  will  not  enter." 

'Parbleu!  we  will  see  about  that." 

And  Belle-Rose,  overthrowing  the  grenadier  with  an 
irresistible  force,  reached  the  corridor  at  a  bound.  A  light 
was  shining  at  the  top  of  a  stair-way.  He  climbs  it,  re- 
pulses two  guards,  opens  a  door  in  front  of  him,  and  dis- 
appears before  the  sentinel  even  had  time  to  cock  his 
musket.  The  Due  de  Luxembourg  was  seated  in  a  large 
easy-chair ;  in  his  hand  he  held  dispatches,  and  upon  a 
table  in  reach  of  him,  maps  and  papers  were  to  be  seen 
scattered.  At  the  noise  made  by  Belle-Rose  on  entering 


134  WHEAT  AND  TARES. 

the  hall,  the  general  exclaimed,  without  turning  his  head : 

"What  is  it  now,  and  what  do  you  want  with  me?  Have 
I  not  given  orders  to  let  no  one  enter?" 

"Monsieur  le  Due,  I  have  forced  the  sentry 

At  these  words,  at  the  sound  of  this  unknown  voice,  the 
Due  de  Luxembourg  arose. 

"It  is  an  audacity  which  will  cost  you  dear,  monsieur," 
said  he,  and  he  rang  a  bell. 

The  soldiers  on  guard  and  some  officers  entered. 

"A  word,  I  pray  you!  You  can  dispose  of  my  life  after- 
ward," said  Belle-Rose,  just  as  Monsieur  de  Luxembourg 
was  undoubtedly  going  to  give  the  order  for  his  arrest. 

The  general  was  silent.  His  eyes  inflamed  by  anger, 
wandered  over  Belle-Rose;  the  disorder  of  the  young 
officer,  the  frankness  of  his  physiognomy,  the  resolution 
of  his  look,  the  anxiety  to  be  read  upon  his  countenance, 
touched  the  illustrious  captain.  He  made  a  sign  of  the 
hand ;  everybody  went  out,  and  the  Due  de  Luxembourg 
and  Belle-Rose  were  left  alone. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

WHEAT  AND  TARES. 

The  general  and  the  lieutenant  looked  at  each  other  for 
a  minute  before  speaking.  If  one  had  been  able  to  read 
Monsieur  de  Luxembourg's  heart,  one  would  have  seen 
pass  therein  the  fugitive  and  uncertain  light  of  a  recollec- 
tion drowned  in  the  shadows  of  a  stormy  and  active  life. 
As  to  Belle-Rose,  never  before  this  hour  had  he  found 
himself — at  least,  he  thought  so — in  the  presence  of  the 
famous  captain  whose  renown  shone  with  a  radiant  splen- 
dor even  between  the  redoubtable  names  of  Turenne  and 
Conde.  A  respectful  fear  seized  his  soul,  and  his  proud 
look  was  lowered  before  Monsieur  de  Luxembourg,  whom 
he  nevertheless  over-topped  by  a  whole  head.  The  vague 
recollection  of  the  general  was  effaced  like  a  flash ;  he 
only  saw  before  him  now  a  presumptuous  soldier  whom  it 
was  necessary  to  listen  to  first  and  to  punish  afterward. 

'What  do  you  wish?    Speak !"  said  he. 

'I  come  to  implore  the  pardon  of  a  guilty  man." 

'His  name?" 

'Monsieur  de  Naucrais." 

'The  captain  who  beat  the  Spaniards  to-day  and  took 
Gosselies?" 


WHEAT  AND  TAKES.  135 

"A  beautiful  action,  monsieur." 

"There  is  no  beautiful  action  which  infringes  discipline." 

"The  French  flag  was  being  burnt  upon  the  king's 
territory." 

"There  was  an  order  of  the  day,  monsieur.  Had  twenty 
flags  been  burnt  and  fifty  villages  sacked,  it  was  the 
soldier's  duty  not  to  budge!" 

"It  is  a  fault  redeemed  by  the  victory." 

"It  is  not  a  question  of  conquering  but  obeying.  If  the 
voice  of  generals  is  not  recognized,  what  becomes  of  dis- 
cipline? and  without  discipline  there  is  no  army." 

"It  is  the  first  time  Monsieur  de  Naucrais  has  conquered 
without  orders." 

"It  will  also  be  the  last." 

"Monseigneur !" 

"An  example  is  necessary.  In  a  time  when  there  come 
to  us  from  the  court  a  hundred  young  officers  who  are  not 
accustomed  to  war,  to  tolerate  one  such  great  infraction  of 
military  laws  would  be  to  authorize  thirty.  Monsieur  de 
Naucrais  must  die." 

"Pardon,  monsieur  le  due,  listen  to  me." 

"Eh!  monsieur,  who  are  you,  then,  that  you  should  ex- 
hibit so  much  persistence?" 

"Belle-Rose,  lieutenant  in  the  artillery  corps." 

"Belle-Rose!  it  is  a  singular  name!    Belle-Rose?" 

"The  name  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  affair." 

"Quite  right, "  said  the  general,  who  could  not  refrain 
from  smiling;  "but  are  you  his  brother,  his  relative,  his 
friend?" 

"Monsieur  le  Naucrais  is  my  captain." 

"That  means  you  will  gain  a  pair  of  epaulettes." 

"Oh!  monseigneur !"  said  Belle-Rose,  with  an  accent  of 
reproach. 

"Well,  what?  It  is  the  custom  in  war;  each  for  himself 
and  the  bullets  for  all." 

"But " 

"Enough!  I  have  wished  to  hear  you,  monsieur,  and  to 
forget,  for  a  moment,  the  severe  breach  of  discipline  com- 
mitted by  you  in  forcing  the  sentry  who  defended  my 
door ;  but  this  indulgence,  which  I  hope  you  will  not  make 
me  repent,  is  not  a  motive  to  justify  the  pardoning  of  the 
fault  of  which  Monsieur  de  Naucrais  has  rendered  himself 
guilty.  I  have  already  told  you ;  Monsieur  de  Naucrais 
will  be  shot  at  daybreak  to-morrow. " 

"No,  monseigneur,"  exclaimed  Belle-Rose  boldly,  "no, 
it  shall  not  be!" 


136  WHEAT  AND  TAEES. 

"And  who,  then,  -will  prevent  it?" 

"Yourself." 

"Me!" 

"Yes,  you!" 

"Monsieur  Belle-Rose,  take  care!"  said  the  duke,  grow- 
ing pale. 

"Oh!  I  fear  nothing  for  myself !  The  right  defends  me 
as  your  justice  should  defend  Monsieur  de  Naucrais.  One 
does  not  kill  a  brave  officer  because  he  has  blood  in  his 
veins." 

"Morbleu!" 

"Eh!  monseigneur,  if  you  had  been  in  his  place,  perhaps 
you  would  have  done  as  much." 

At  this  brusque  repartee,  the  Due  de  Luxembourg  could 
not  refrain  from  smiling. 

"Agreed,"  said  he,  "but  if  he  were  in  mine,  he  would 
act  like  me!" 

Belle-Rose  continued : 

"A  band  of  pillagers  insult  the  French  flag,  a  captain  of 
the  king  is  there,  and  would  not  draw  his  sword  to  punish 
the  insolent  fellows !  But  it  is  impossible !  Fire  devours  a 
village,  the  odor  of  powder  mounts  to  your  head,  a  horse 
prances,  a  dig  of  the  spur  is  quickly  given,  and  you 
go,  not  so  much  because  you  wished  to,  but  because 
you  are  a  man.  Then,  what  happens?  The  enemy  turn 
round,  you  pursue  them,  you  kill  them  right  and  left,  you 
fall  pell-mell  upon  a  redoubt  which  is  carried  by  assault, 
the  white  flag  is  planted  upon  the  rampart,  and  you  cry, 
'  Vive  le  roil"1  you  embrace  your  companions,  and  on  re- 
turning, instead  of  a  recompense,  it  is  a  musket-ball  which 
is  waiting  for  you.  But  you,  monseigneur,  who  condemn 
men  so  quickly  and  so  well — your  feats  are  known !  You 
have  crossed  twenty  rivers,  massacred  ten  thousand  Span- 
iards, taken  thirty  redoubts !  This  is  what  you  would  have 
done,  peer  of  France  though  you  are,  and  what  I  would 
have  done — I  who  am  only  a  poor  lieutenant." 

"Well,  we  would  have  both  been  shot,"  said  the  general. 

Belle-Rose  trembled.  In  his  generous  ardor,  he  had  for 
a  moment  forgotten  the  rank  of  the  man  to  whom  he  was 
speaking.  At  these  words,  his  youthful  zeal  calmed  down, 
as  does  the  boiling  water  of  a  vase  when  a  cold  stream  is 
poured  upon  it. 

"You  have  pleaded  well  Monsieur  de  Naucrais'  cause," 
added  Monsieur  do  Luxembourg,  with  dignity;  "audacity 
is  not  unbecoming  to  youth,  and  that  which  you  have  just 
shown  honors  you  and  at  the  same  time  gives  me  a  high 


WHEAT  AND  TABES.  137 

opinion  of  the  character  of  Monsieur  de  Naucrais.  An 
ordinary  man  does  not  inspire  such  devotion.  But  every- 
thing must  give  way  to  discipline.  In  spite  of  your  prayer, 
I  regret  to  repeat  to  you  that  Captain  de  Naucrais  will  be 
shot  at  daybreak  to-morrow." 

Monsieur  de  Luxembourg,  with  a  noble  gesture,  saluted 
Belle-Rose,  but  the  lieutenant  did  not  budge.  The  duke 
frowned. 

"I  thought  I  had  explained  myself  clearly,  monsieur," 
said  he. 

"Pardon  me,  monseigneur,  if  I  insist,  but " 

"Ah!  Monsieur  Belle-Rose,  I  did  not  wish  to  grow 
offended  at  your  audacity ;  but  a  longer  insistence  will 
oblige  me  to  recollect  who  you  are  and  who  I  am." 

Belle-Rose  smiled  sadly. 

"May  you  do  so,  then,  if  the  recollection  of  the  distance 
between  us  recalls  to  you  that  you  can  accomplish  a  good 
action,  and  that  I  can  only  ask  one  of  you." 

Monsieur  de  Luxembourg  repressed  a  gesture  of  impa- 
tience. 

"Since  you  do  not  wish  to  understand  me,  permit  me, 
monsieur,  to  call  for  some  one  to  reconduct  you  to  the 
quarters  of  the  artillery." 

As  he  concluded  these  words,  the  duke  approached  the 
table  to  pick  up  the  little  bell,  but  Belle-Rose  anticipated 
his  movement,  and  rushing  to  the  table,  he  seized  the 
general's  hand. 

"Through  pity,  monseigneur!"  said  he. 

A  flash  of  anger  lit  up  the  eyes  of  Monsieur  de  Luxem- 
bourg ;  he  quickly  disengaged  himself,  and  with  one  hand 
seizing  Belle-Rose  by  the  lapel  of  his  coat,  with  the  other 
he  took  a  pistol  which  he  pressed  against  his  breast.  The 
hammer  fell,  but  the  priming  alone  burned,  and  the  duke, 
rendered  furious,  threw  the  weapon  upon  the  floor.  Not  a 
muscle  of  Belle-Rose's  face  quivered.  But  Monsieur  de 
Luxembourg  had  leaned  forward.  The  violence  of  his 
movement  had  partly  opened  Belle-Rose's  clothing,  and 
upon  the  half-naked  breast  of  the  lieutenant  shone  a  gold 
medallion  suspended  by  a  silk  cord.  The  general's  hand 
took  possession  of  it. 

"Where  did  you  get  this  medallion?"  he  exclaimed,  in  a 
quick  tone. 

"I  found  it,  monseigneur." 

"Where?" 

"At  St.  Omer." 

"When?" 


138  WHEAT  AND  TARES. 

"In  1658.  But  of  what  importance  is  this  medallion  to 
you?  It  is  a  question  of  Monsieur  de  Naucrais." 

"You  found  it  at  St.  Omer  in  1658?"  said  the  duke. 

"Yes,"  replied  Belle-Rose,  who  did  not  understand  the 
Due  de  Luxembourg's  emotion.  "I  was  then  thirteen  years 
old." 

Monsieur  de  Luxembourg  stepped  back  a  little  and  began 
to  consider  the  young  lieutenant.  A  vail  seemed  to  disap- 
pear from  his  face  as  the  examination  advanced. 

"Eh,  yes!"  he  exclaimed,  "I  find  again  that  vague  re- 
semblance which  struck  me  on  seeing  you.  Belle- Rose,  did 
you  say?  but  your  name  is  not  Belle-Rose!  it  is  Jacques — 
Jacques  Grinedal." 

Belle-Rose,  frightened,  looked  at  Monsieur  de  Luxem- 
bourg. 

"Eh !  parbleu!  You  are  Guillaume  Grinedal's  son.  Have 
I  not  seen  the  falconer's  little  cottage?" 

"You!"  exclaimed  Belle-Rose,  who,  in  his  turn,  began 
to  study  the  general's  features  with  an  eager  curiosity. 

"But  you  have  not  kept,  then,  the  least  recollection  of 
a  day  not  an  hour  of  which  is  effaced  from  my  memory. 
Ah !  you  have  not  given  the  lie  to  my  prediction — the 
brave  child  has  become  a  brave  officer." 

"The  peddler!"  said  Belle-Rose. 

"Eh,  yes!  the  peddler  become,  by  the  grace  of  God, 
general  in  the  king's  service.  The  times  are  no  longer  the 
same,  but  the  heart  has  not  changed.  Child,  you  have 
rendered  me  a  service ;  become  a  man,  it  is  my  turn  to 
serve  you." 

"Well,  monsieur  le  due,  if  it  is  true  that  you  recollect 
that  night  passed  under  the  roof  of  Guillaume  Grinedal, 
permit  me  to  ask  you  no  other  proof  of  your  favor  than 
the  life  of  Monsieur  de  Naucrais." 

"Again!" 

"Always!  I  wish  nothing  and  expect  nothing  for  my- 
self ;  but  let  this  unhoped-for  meeting  save  my  captain  as 
our  first  one  has  been  of  some  aid  to  you,  and  among  all 
the  days  of  my  life  these  will  be  two  blessed  days." 

Monsieur  de  Luxembourg  kept  turning  the  medallion 
between  his  fingers,  caressing  with  the  look  an  image 
which  the  chased  lid  had  just  uncovered. 

"You  have  not  changed,  friend  Jacques,"  said  he;  "you 
are  still  the  same  proud  and  resolute  fellow.  Come,  go.  I 
will  do  for  Monsieur  de  Naucrais  everything  which  the 
military  laws  permit  me." 


WHEAT  AND  TARES.  139 

Belle-Hose  understood  this  time  that  he  must  go ;  he 
bowed  to  the  general  and  went  out. 

At  daybreak  the  next  morning  an  officer  of  the  general's 
household  came  to  warn  Belle-Rose  that  he  was  expected 
in  the  great  council  chamber.  Belle-Rose  donned  his  uni- 
form and  went  out.  When  he  entered  the  hall,  his  heart 
beat  rapidly.  The  Due  de  Luxembourg,  surrounded  by  a 
brilliant  staff,  was  seated  in  a  large  fauteuil ;  among  the 
great  officers  of  his  suite,  several  wore  upon  the  coat  the 
insignia  of  their  high  rank. 

Monsieur  de  Luxembourg  saluted  Belle-Rose  with  the 
hand,  and  indicated  to  him  a  place  situated  in  a  manner  to 
give  a  good  view  of  all  that  which  was  going  to  take  place. 
Upon  a  sign  from  the  general,  everybody  sat  down  in  a 
profound  silence,  an  officer  went  out,  and  a  moment  after 
the  doors  gave  passage  to  Monsieur  de  Naucrais,  who  was 
followed  by  two  grenadiers.  Monsieur  de  Naucrais  per- 
ceived Belle-Rose,  both  exchanged  a  smile — the  one  of 
farewell,  the  other  of  hope ;  then  the  captain  bowed  to  the 
council  and  waited.  Monsieur  de  Luxembourg  took  off  his 
white-plumed  hat  and  stood. 

"Monsieur  de  Naucrais, "  said  he,  "you  committed  yes- 
terday a  grave  breach  of  discipline ;  you  who  ought,  as  an 
officer,  to  give  an  example  of  submission,  have  disobeyed 
the  orders  of  your  superiors  and  merit,  by  that  fact,  a 
severe  punishment;  you  are  stripped  of  your  grade. 
Yesterday  you  handed  to  me  your  sword ;  you  must  now 
lose  your  epaulettes.  Gentlemen,  do  your  duty." 

At  these  words,  two  officers  approached  Monsieur  de 
Naucrais  and  took  from  him  the  insignia  of  his  command. 
Monsieur  de  Naucrais  grew  slightly  pale.  Belle-Rose, 
chilled  by  terror,  dared  not  make  a  single  movement. 

"You  know,  monsieur,  that  military  laws  condemn  you 
to  death,"  continued  the  Due  de  Luxembourg;  "have  you 
nothing  to  say  in  your  defense?" 

"Nothing;  your  sentence  is  just,  and  I  have  deserved  it. 
When  one  violates  the  laws  of  discipline  as  I  have  done, 
'tis  best  to  die." 

At  these  funereal  words,  Bell-rose  concealed  his  head 
between  his  hands ;  great  drops  of  sweat  beaded  upon  his 
forehead. 

"In  the  name  of  the  king,"  resumed  Monsieur  de  Lux- 
embourg, "and  acting  by  reason  of  the  power  conferred 
upon  me,  I  absolve  you  from  the  penalty  of  death." 

"You  pardon  me!"  exclaimed  the  captain,  making  two 
steps  forward. 


140  WHEAT  AND  TABES. 

"Hear  me  to  the  end,  monsiear,  and  if  you  have  any  ob- 
jections to  make,  you  will  make  them  afterward." 

Monsieur  de  Naucrais  crossed  his  arms  upon  his  breast 
and  was  silent.  Belle-Rose  leaned  forward  to  hear  better 
what  the  duke  was  going  to  say.  The  latter  continued : 

"You  have  been  punished  for  the  fault,  monsieur;  it  is 
right  that  you  should  now  be  rewarded  for  the  victory." 

Monsieur  de  Naucrais  trembled,  and  Belle-Rose  breathed 
like  a  man  who,  after  having  remained  some  time  under 
the  water,  returns  to  the  light. 

"In  the  name  of  the  king,  I  took  from  you  the  sword  of 
the  captain ;  in  the  name  of  the  king,  I  return  to  you  that 
of  a  colonel.  Take  it,  then,  monsieur,  and  if  you  always 
serve  worthily  your  country  as  you  have  done  up  to  now, 
new  rewards  will  not  be  long  in  seeking  you." 

The  Due  de  Luxembourg  extended  his  hand  to  Monsieur 
de  Naucrais.  That  strong  man  whom  the  approach  of 
death  could  not  move,  grew  troubled  like  a  child  at  the 
the  general's  words;  he  took  the  sword  with  a  trembling 
hand,  and,  without  voice  to  thank  him  for  a  favor  so 
nobly  accorded,  he  could  only  express  by  his  emotion  the 
extent  of  his  gratitude.  The  officers  surrounded  him,  and 
Monsieur  de  Luxembourg  approached  Belle-Rose. 

"You  have  appealed  from  the  general  to  the  peddler, " 
said  he,  "the  peddler  has  recollected.** 

Belle-Rose  wished  to  reply,  but  Monsieur  de  Luxem- 
bourg stopped  him. 

"I  was  your  debtor, "  he  said  to  him,  kindly,  "I  have 
wished  to  repay  you — that  is  all ;  now,  instead  of  one  pro- 
tector, you  have  two." 

A  minute  later  it  was  Monsieur  de  Naucrais'  turn. 

"I  know  what  I  owe  to  you,"  said  he  to  Belle-Rose;  "if 
you  have  lost  a  friend  in  Monsieur  d'Assonville,  you  have 
gained  a  brother  in  me." 

A  vigorous  grasp  of  the  hand  terminated  this  laconic  dis- 
course, and  the  new  colonel  ran  to  make  himself  recog- 
nized by  his  regiment.  As  Belle-Rose  was  returning  to  the 
quarter  of  his  company,  a  personage  who  was  leaving  it 
ran  up  against  him. 

"Cornelius!" 

"Belle-Rose!"  they  exclaimed,  at  the  same  time,  and  the 
two  friends  embraced. 

"It  is  a  happy  day, "  said  Belle-Rose.  "There  are  still 
some  left  in  life,  then!" 

"There  are  a  thousand!"  replied  Cornelius,  whose 
countenance  was  radiant  with  happiness.  "I  have  seen 


WHEAT  AXD  TARES.  141 

your  father;  he  calls  me  his  son;  I  have  seen  Pierre,  who 
wishes  to  be  a  soldier,  in  order  to  become  a  captain ;  I 
have  here  a  letter  from  Clandine  which  proves  to  me  that 
I  am  loved  as  much  as  I  love — and  you  ask  if  there  are 
happy  days  in  life.  But  it  is  full  of  them. ' ' 

BeUe-Rose  smiled. 

"Bah !"  continued  the  young  enthusiast,  "if  I  ever  meet 
another  Claudine,  I  will  give  her  to  you,  and  you  will  be 
of  my  opinion." 

"We  will  look  around,  but  while  waiting  to  find  her, 
you  will  become  my  brother  in  arms. " 

"Tea,  certainly;  I  am  a  volunteer,  and  I  intend  to  help 
you  take  Brussells, " 

While  talking  of  their  affairs  and  their  hopes,  the  two 
young  men  had  strayed  from  the  lines.  The  day  was 
warm  and  beautiful ;  they  pushed  on  into  the  country.  As 
they  were  entering  a  sunken  road,  a  gun  was  fired  some 
distance  away,  and  the  ball  flattened  itself  against  a 
pebble,  two  steps  from  Belle-Rose.  Cornelius  rushed  to 
the  bank  of  the  road.  A  light  cloud  of  smoke  was  floating 
upon  the  edge  of  a  hop  field. 

"Oh !  oh !"  he  exclaimed,  "those  are  Spanish  marauders. 
"I  no  longer  see  our  camp," 

"Let  us  turnback,  then,"  replied  Belle-Rose;  "swords 
cannot  compete  with  muskets." 

Profiting  by  the  hedges  and  ditches,  Belle-Rose  and  Cor- 
nelius gained  the  approaches  of  the  camp.  The  first  sentry 
was  only  a  hundred  steps  away,  when  Belle-Rose  stumbled 
against  a  stump;  at  the  same  moment,  two  balls,  passing 
above  him,  buried  themselves  in  the  trunk  of  an  oak. 

"Lucky  fall!"  said  Belle-Rose,  "I  owe  my  life  to  it" 

Some  soldiers  ran  up  on  hearing  this  last  shot,  but  the 
marauders  had  already  disappeared. 

They  were  traversing  the  camp  when,  at  the  turn  of  a 
street,  Cornelius  nudged  Belle-Rose  with  his  elbow. 

"Look,"  he  said  to  him. 

Belle-Rose  raised  his  eyes  and  saw  Monsieur  de  ViHe- 
brais  passing  on  horseback. 

"I  imagine  that  this  must  be  the  captain  of  the  marau- 
ders, ' '  added  Cornelius. 


142  DICE  AND  CARDS. 

CHAPTER  XX. 

DICE    AND    CARDS. 

Monsieur  de  Villebrais  had  scarcely  entered  the  camp 
when  the  noise  of  his  arrival  spread.  The  staffs  of  the 
divers  regiments  which  composed  the  army  were  stirred 
up  "by  it,  and  several  officers  \vho  were  acquainted  with 
his  conduct  in  respect  to  Belle-Rose  and  the  murder  of 
Monsieur  d'Assonville,  loudly  expressed  their  indignation. 
So  much  audacity  astonished  them.  But  Monsieur  de 
Villehrais  was  not  a  man  to  grow  frightened  at  these 
rumors,  and  knowing  himself  supported  at  court  by  a 
relative  who  had  some  credit,  he  thought  he  could  brave 
with  impunity  the  opinion  of  his  fellows.  He  was  one  of 
those  men — and  the  number  of  them  is  greater  than  one 
would  think — who  have  a  cowardly  heart  and  a  bold  mind. 
The  evening,  then,  of  his  a  rival,  he  went  in  uniform  to  an 
inn  where  the  officers  who  were  not  on  duty  gathered  to- 
gether to  talk,  drink,  and  play  games.  A  numerous  com- 
pany was  assembled  there  when  he  entered.  Belle-Rose, 
introduced  by  Monsieur  de  Naucrais,  received  everywhere 
a  welcome  which  proved  at  the  same  time  the  esteem 
which  was  entertained  for  his  person  and  for  that  of  the 
colonel.  Monsieur  de  Villebrais  passed  between  the  group 
without  appearing  to  see  his  rival,  and  advancing  toward 
a  table  where  seven  or  eight  officers  were  playing  lansque- 
net, he  threw  some  gold  pieces  upon  the  board.  The  man 
who  held  the  cards  raised  his  eyes  and  recognized  Mon- 
sieur de  Villebrais.  He  was  an  old  captain  of  artillery 
who  was  known  throughout  the  regiment  for  his  bravery. 

"I  stake  ten  louis, "  said  Monsieur  de  Villebrais. 

"Messieurs,  I  stake  nothing,"  rejoined  the  captain,  and 
throwing  the  cards  upon  the  table,  he  withdrew. 

"Monsieur!"  exclaimed  the  lieutenant,  drunk  with  anger 
and  his  hand  upon  the  guard  of  his  sword. 

The  old  captain  stopped  a  minute,  eyed  Monsieur  de 
Villebrais  from  head  to  foot,  with  a  scornful  smile,  and 
passed  on  without  making  any  reply.  A  young  musketeer 
picked  up  the  cards  and  shuffled  them. 

"Play,  messieurs,"  said  he. 

But,  before  drawing  a  card,  he  pushed  back  the  gold 
pieces  of  Monsieur  de  Villebrais,  and  taking  with  affecta- 
tion the  glove  which  had  touched  them,  he  threw  it  into 


DICE  AND  CAEDS.  143 

one  corner.  Monsieur  de  Villebrais  bit  bis  lips  till  tbe 
blood  came. 

"It  is  an  insult  which  you  will  answer  to  me  for,"  said 
he,  in  a  hollow  voice. 

The  musketeer  rose  and  looked  at  Monsieur  de  Ville- 
brais as  the  old  captain  had  done. 

"Decidedly,"  said  he,  turning  to  his  comrades,  "this 
table  is  placed  in  a  dirty  place ;  one  comes  in  contact  here 
with  disgusting  things.  Let  us  go  away." 

A  red  cloud  passed  before  Monsieur  de  Villebrais'  eyes. 
In  his  blind  fury,  he  wished  to  seize  one  of  the  officers  by 
the  arm.  This  man — a  cornet  in  the  light-horse — repulsed 
him  and  very  gravely  went  to  work  to  dust  the  sleeve  of 
his  coat.  The  impulse  was  given.  Every  one  felt  bound  to 
act  like  the  captain  of  artillery,  whose  loyalty  and  honesty 
were  proverbial. 

"I  am  one  who  wishes  to  fight  you  all,  cowards!"  cried 
Monsieur  de  Villebrais. 

A  shiver  traversed  the  circle  of  officers,  but  a  captain  of 
grenadiers  intervened. 

"I  believe  it  would  be  proper  to  have  the  gentleman 
caned, "  said  he,  designating  the  pale  victim;  "the  valets 
of  the  inn  would  serve  us  in  this  respect ;  what  do  you 
think  of  it?" 

"Yes!  yes!"  replied  several  voices;  "call  the  valets." 

"Stop!"  said  a  lieutenant  of  cannoneers;  "they  are 
honest  fellows  who  might  be  compromised  by  it.  Lackeys 
against  a  bandit — it  is  unjust.  Let  us  leave  the  place." 

The  circle  of  officers  was  broken  and  each  one  made  for 
the  door.  Belle-Rose  had  been  a  mute  witness  of  this  hor- 
rible scene.  As  he  passed  before  his  ancient  lieutenant, 
Monsieur  de  Villebrais  recognized  him. 

"Oh!"  he  exclaimed,  with  a  transport  of  rage,  "you,  at 
least,  will  kill  me." 

And  he  drew  his  sword. 

Belle-Rose  was  already  placing  his  hand  upon  the  guard 
of  his,  when  Monsieur  de  Naucrais  seized  him  by  the  arm. 

"Monsieur  Grinedal,"  he  said  to  him,  in  a  quick  tone  of 
voice,  "His  majesty  has  not  given  you  an  officer's  sword 
for  you  to  soil  it." 

Belle-Rose's  sword,  half  drawn,  was  returned  to  its 
scabbard,  and  all  the  officers  walked  slowly  out.  Monsieur 
de  Villebrais,  left  alone,  tottered ;  the  sword  escaped  from 
his  nerveless  hands,  an  icy  sweat  bathed  his  forehead,  and 
he  fell  upon  the  carpet.  An  hour  after  this  scene  Sergeant 
Deroute  entered  the  inn  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  has  a 


144  DICE  AND  CARDS. 

delicate  mission  to  discharge,  At  the  first  glance  he  per- 
ceived Monsieur  de  Villebrais  seated  upon  a  chair,  his 
elbows  supported  upon  a  table,  and  his  head  between  his 
hands,  pale,  mournful,  and  dejected.  His  sword  was  still 
upon  the  floor. 

Deroute  made  three  steps  forward,  and,  taking  off  his 
hat,  gave  a  slight  bow. 

"Monsieur  de  Villebrais?"  said  he. 

Monsieur  de  Villebrais  trembled  like  a  man  violently 
drawn  from  a  profound  sleep.  He  raised  his  head  and 
recognized  Deroute. 

"Oh!"  said  he,  "it  is  a  challenge  you  bring  me?" 

"No,  monsieur,  it  is  an  order." 

"An  order!" 

"And  it  is  I  whom  the  officers  of  the  regiment  have 
chosen  for  signifying  it  to  you. ' ' 

"  You !  insolent  fellow ! ' ' 

And  Monsieur  de  Villebrais,  in  a  fit  of  wild  anger, 
grabbed  his  sword  by  the  blade  and  raised  the  heavy 
guard  over  Deroute's  head ;  but  Deroute.  throwing  himself 
back,  took  from  his  belt  a  pistol  whose  muzzle  he  turned 
toward  Monsieur  de  Villebrais. 

"Let  us  act  fair,  monsieur,"  he  said  to  him,  with  that 
good-natured  air  of  his;  "you  are  no  longer  my  officer.  I 
swear  to  you,  then,  that  if  you  make  a  step  forward,  if 
you  touch  me.  I  shall  blow  out  your  brains." 

Monsieur  de  Villebrais  threw  his  sword  against  the  wall 
of  the  room  with  so  much  violence  that  the  blade  was 
shivered  to  pieces. 

"Monsieur,"  said  the  sergeant,  replacing  the  pistol  in 
his  belt,  "you  are  warned  by  the  officers  of  the  regiment 
in  which  you  served  as  lieutenant,  that  if  you  have  the 
audacity  to  present  yourself  to-morrow  at  the  quarters  or 
the  parade,  they  will  be  constrained  to  punish  you  with 
the  flat  of  their  swords,  in  the  presence  of  the  whole  army. 
Consequently  you  are  requested  to  leave  at  once,  unless  it 
pleases  you  to  submit  to  this  treatment,  and  to  be  after- 
ward delivered  to  the  provost,  under  the  accusation  of 
assassination.  I  have  spoken. " 

Deroute  picked  up  his  hat  and  went  out.  Monsieur  de 
Villebrais  did  not  move.  He  was  like  a  man  struck  by  a 
thunderbolt.  Thus  the  cup  of  humiliation  and  of  shame 
had  been  emptied  upon  his  head,  even  to  the  last  drop. 
He  remained  silent  for  an  hour,  then  stood  up  paler  than 
a  corpse  and  with  lightning  in  his  eyes.  He  pulled  off  his 
epaulettes  and  threw  them  away,  cut  with  a  knife  the 


But  De-route,  throwing  himself  back,  took  from  his  belt  a  pistol  whose 
muzzle  he  turned  toward  Monsieur  de  Villebrais-p.  144 


DICE  AND  CAKDS.  145 

golden  fleurs-de-lis  sewed  to  his  coat,  tore  the  white 
cockade  attached  to  his  hat,  and  trampled  it  under  his 
feet,  picked  up,  at  the  foot  of  the  wall  where  it  was  lying, 
the  guard  of  his  broken  sword,  slipped  the  sturnp  of  it  in 
his  scabbard,  and  went  away.  An  hour  after  a  man  on 
horseback  left  the  camp.  When  he  had  reached  a  certain 
distance,  he  stopped  his  horse  upon  a  slight  elevation  and 
turned  in  the  direction  of  the  lines  which  he  had  just 
abandoned.  A  thousand  flames  shone  in  space,  where  the 
cries  of  the  sentinels  echoed  unceasingly.  Monsieur  de 
Villebrais — for  it  was  he— contemplated  the  warlike  city 
where  floated  the  flag  of  France.  His  arms  were  raised  to 
heaven,  whose  terrible  maledictions  he  seemed  to  be  ap- 
pealing for.  "Vengeance!"  said  he,  and  urging  on  his 
horse  toward  the  Belgian  frontier,  he  disappeared  in  the 
shadows.  Three  leagues  in  front  sparkled  the  first  fires  of 
the  enemy's  lines.  Halted  by  the  Spanish  sentinels,  Mon- 
sieur de  Villebrais  asked  the  officer  who  commanded  the 
post  to  conduct  him  to  the  general.  A  moment  after  Mon- 
sieur de  Villebrais,  guided  by  the  officer  himself,  arrived 
at  the  tent  of  the  Duke  of  Castel-Rodrigo,  who  governed 
Belgium  for  the  King  of  Spain.  The  duke  was  seated  be- 
fore a  table  loaded  with  maps  and  plans.  Some  aides-de- 
camp, booted  and  spurred,  were  sleeping  in  the  corners  of 
the  tent. 

"What  is  it  now?"  exclaimed  the  duke,  at  the  noise 
made  by  the  sentinels  in  presenting  arms. 

"I  bring  you  a  stranger,  my  general,  who  desires  to 
speak  to  you,"  replied  the  officer. 

The  duke  looked  at  Monsieur  de  Villebrais. 

"You  are  a  Frenchman,  monsieur,"  he  said  to  him. 

"Yes,  general." 

"Whence  come  you?" 

"From  over  yonder,"  said  the  lieutenant,  pointing  in 
the  direction  of  the  French  camp. 

"From  the  French  camp?"  exclaimed  the  duke. 

"Yes,  general." 

"And  what  do  you  want?" 

"I  come  to  offer  you  my  sword  and  my  arm." 

"Ah!"  said  the  duke,  with  a  gesture  in  which  there  was 
as  much  surprise  as  scorn.  "That  is  to  say,"  he  resumed, 
after  a  short  silence,  "that  you  come  as  a  deserter?" 

"I  come  as  a  man  who  wishes  to  avenge  himself." 

"Very  well,  monsieur.  Then  you  have  a  grave  insult  to 
punish?" 

"Look!"  exclaimed  Monsieur  de  Villebrais,  drawing  the 


146  DICE  AND  CAKDS. 

stump  of  his  sword  from  the  scabbard;  "I  have  broken 
this  sword,  but  I  will  fasten  another  blade  to  this  guard, 
and  I  will  strike  those  who  have  struck  me. " 

'Then  we  can  count  upon  you  if  we  welcome  you?" 
'You  can  count  upon  me  if  you  accord  me  what  I  ask." 
'What  is  it  you  desire?" 

'Some  determined  men  and  the  right  to   lead  them 
wherever  I  wish,  day  and  night." 
'You  shall  have  them." 
'Then  I  am  yours." 

The  Duke  of  Castel-Rodrigo  took  up  a  pen  from  the 
table,  wrote  some  words,  and  handed  the  paper  to  the 
lieutenant. 

"Here  is  the  order,  monsieur;  now  answer,  but  think  of 
what  you  say,  for  as  sure  as  you  deceive  me,  I  shall  have 
you  hung." 

"Then  I  have  nothing  to  fear;  speak." 

"Has  Louis  XIV.  arrived  at  Charleroi?" 

"He  will  reach  the  camp  to-morrow." 

"Does  he  intend  to  quit  the  banks  of  the  Sambre  and 
push  on  farther?" 

"It  is  believed  that  the  army  will  abandon  its  encamp- 
ment and  invade  the  Spanish  possessions,  which  it  has 
orders  to  conquer." 

"We  have  Douai,  Mons,  Tournay,  Maubeuge,  and  Ques- 
noy." 

"These  places  will  hold  out  three  days  and  will  be 
taken." 

"Monsieur,"  said  the  duke,  "do  you  forget  that  you 
speak  to  the  governor  of  the  province?" 

"I  forget  nothing;  you  question  me,  I  answer." 

"If  you  believe  so  strongly  in  the  success  of  the  French 
arms,  what,  then,  do  you  come  to  seek  among  us?" 

"I  have  told  you — vengeance." 

"'Tis  well,  monsieur,  withdraw;  when  I  need  your 
services,  you  shall  be  informed  of  it." 

When  they  had  gone  out,  Monsieur  de  Villebrais  turned 
to  the  officer  who  accompanied  him. 

"Have  you,  monsieur, "  he  said  to  him,  "in  some  regi- 
ment of  the  army,  any  of  those  men  who  recoil  before  no 
undertaking  and  know  how  to  risk  all  in  the  hope  of 
honest  gain?" 

"Unfortunately  we  have  too  many  of  those  kind  of  men. 
You  seek  soldiers,  you  will  find  bandits." 

"Will  you,  monsieur,  conduct  me  to  the  quarters  of 
those  men?" 


DICE  AND  CAKDS.  147 

"It  is  there,  behind  that  clump  of  sycamores.  They 
serve  in  the  Duke  of  Ascot's  corps." 

The  officer  hastened  on. 

"Look,  monsieur, "  said  he,  stopping  behind  the  syca- 
mores, and  with  his  finger  he  pointed  out  to  him  a  line  of 
tents  where,  in  spite  of  the  advanced  hour  of  the  night, 
was  to  he  heard  a  confused  noise  of  songs  and  cries. 

Around  some  tents,  lit  up  by  candles  stuck  in  the  ends 
of  guns,  were  to  be  seen  a  great  number  of  soldiers  who 
were  playing  dice  upon  the  skin  of  their  drums ;  others 
were  sleeping  here  and  there,  others  were  drinking,  and 
still  others  were  quarreling.  The  empty  bottles  were  being 
smashed,  the  gamblers  were  swearing ;  the  most  irascible 
sustained  their  opinion  pistol  in  hand,  the  women  went 
and  came,  stopping  at  the  places  where  the  money  was 
circulating ;  in  one  corner  there  was  a  soldier  gasping  for 
breath,  and  near  him  two  others  who  were  emptying  his 
purse. 

"There  are  men  here  from  every  country, "  said  the 
officer  to  Monsieur  de  Villebrais ;  "not  one  of  them  but 
what  has  deserted  at  least  five  times ;  I  imagine  that  they 
will  readily  take  to  you." 

Monsieur  de  Villebrais  threw  a  cold  glance  at  the 
Spaniard. 

"I  shall  see  whether  they  do  or  not,"  said  he,  and  he 
advanced  toward  the  first  group. 

Five  or  six  soldiers  squatting  upon  the  ground  were 
shaking  an  old  dice-box  blackened  by  use;  the  dice 
sounded  as  they  rolled  upon  the  drum. 

One  of  them,  who  had  lost,  was  twisting  his  mustache 
with  one  hand  and  fumbling  in  his  pocket  with  the  other. 

"Here  are  five  ducats,"  said  the  man  who  had  won, 
"who  wishes  them?" 

"I  will  give  my  saber  for  five  ducats,"  said  the  one  who 
had  lost,  and,  unclasping  his  belt,  he  threw  it  upon  the 
drum. 

"Your  saber!  it  is  scarcely  worth  two ;  the  blade  is  of 
iron  and  the  handle  of  copper." 

" Well,  here  are  my  pistols, "  said  the  soldier;  "pistols 
which  have  killed  ten  Catholics  and  ten  Huguenots." 

Monsieur  de  Villebrais'  hand  was  placed  upon  the  shoul- 
der of  the  bettor. 

"I  take  the  saber  for  ten  ducats,  and  I  give  ten  more  for 
the  arm  which  holds  it, ' '  said  he. 

"Agreed!"  exclaimed  the  soldier,  on  seeing  the  money 
shine  upon  the  drum.  "Eh I  Conrad  1  play,  will  you?" 


148  DICE  AND  CARDS. 

Conrad  threw  the  dice  and  lost;  at  the  third  throw  he 
no  longer  had  anything. 

"My  officer, "  said  he  to  Monsieur  de  Villebrais,  who 
was  watching  them  with  arms  crossed  upon  his  breast,  "I 
also  have  a  saber  and  a  hand — do  you  wish  them?" 

"Here  are  twenty  ducats." 

"Bargain  concluded,"  said  Conrad,  slipping  the  money 
into  his  pockets. 

"Conrad,"  brusquely  exclaimed  a  new-comer  wearing 
the  hussars'  uniform,  "Jeanne  has  taken  a  fancy  for  a 
necklace  to  go  with  her  gold  cross;  I  have  nothing  except 
my  horse  left — do  you  want  it?" 

"I  take  the  horse  and  give  it  to  you, "  said  Monsieur  de 
Villebrais. 

"You  give  me  the  money  and  the  horse?"  said  the 
hussar,  counting  his  gold-pieces. 

"I  givo  them  to  you,  but  on  one  condition." 

"Only  one?" 

"That  is  all;  the  horse  and  man  will  follow  me  every- 
where I  go. ' ' 

"They  are  ready." 

At  the  end  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour  Monsieur  de  Ville- 
brais had  recruited  his  band.  There  was  in  the  little  troop 
which  Monsieur  de  Villebrais  conducted  to  the  lodging 
assigned  him  a  Lorraine,  two  Walloons,  a  native  of  Franc- 
Comtois,  a  Piedmontese,  two  Swiss,  two  Dutchmen,  and  a 
Bavarian.  He  ranged  his  new  acolytes  around  him  and 
examined  them  attentively. 

"You  have,"  he  said  to  them  a  moment  after,  "as  wages 
half  a  pistole  per  day  and  a  whole  one  on  days  when  there 
is  an  expedition." 

"Bravo!"  said  the  Piedmontese. 

"Night  service  will  receive  double  pay." 

"Good,"  said  the  native  of  Franc-Comtois,  "I  will  sleep 
during  the  day." 

"At  the  first  word 'tis  necessary  to  be  ready;  at  the 
first  sign  'tis  necessary  to  leave ;  at  the  first  order  'tis 
necessary  to  kill. ' ' 

"If  it  is  the  order,  it  is  done,"  said  the  Bavarian. 

"Go,  now;  you,  Conrad,  remain." 

The  troop  disappeared,  and  Conrad  sat  down  in  one 
corner,  while  Monsieur  de  Villebrais  fumbled  in  his  valise. 

"Listen,"  said  the  lieutenant,  who  had  just  drawn  a 
paper  from  the  valise,  "and  keep  well  in  mind  what  I  am 
going  to  say  to  you." 

"I  am  listening,"  said  the  Lorraine. 


GOOD  AND  EVIL.  149 

"You  will  leave  at  daybreak  for  the  French  camp.  It  is 
your  business  to  enter  it." 

"I  will  enter  it." 

"You  will  learn  the  quarters  of  the  artillery  and  go 
there  at  once.  It  will  be  easy  to  discover  the  lodging  of  a 
lieutenant  named  Grinedal ;  he  is  known  to  the  soldiers  as 
Belle-Rose." 

"I  will  find  him." 

"You  will  hand  him  this  letter.  It  is,  as  you  can  see, 
inclosed  in  an  envelope  and  bearing  no  address ;  this  letter 
has  been  written  by  a  woman.  You  will  say  to  Belle-Rose 
that  the  person  who  handed  you  this  letter  is  waiting  for 
him  two  leagues  from  camp,  behind  Morlanwelz,  near  a 
wood  which  you  possibly  know." 

"I  know  it.     It  is  a  marvelous  place  for  ambuscades." 

"That  is  what  I  thought  yesterday  as  I  rode  by  it.  You 
will  so  arrange  it  that  Lieutenant  Grinedal  shall  follow 
you  into  this  wood." 

"He  will  follow  me." 

"In  that  case  you  shall  have  twenty  louis." 

"They  are  earned." 

"Very  well.  One  word.  If  you  let  yourself  be  suspected, 
you  are  as  good  as  hung." 

"My  mother,  who  was  something  of  a  sorceress,  always 
predicted  that  I  should  die  in  the  water.  You  see  that  I 
have  nothing  to  fear." 

"Go,  then.    Here  is  the  letter." 

"Is  that  all?" 

"All;  the  rest  concerns  me." 

"The  whole  army  is  on  its  feet;  when  everybody  looks, 
no  one  sees, ' '  said  Conrad,  and  he  took  his  way  at  a 
deliberate  pace  toward  the  camp. 

Just  as  he  crossed  the  palisades  on  the  side  of  the 
frontier,  His  Majesty  Louis  XIV.  entered  the  samp  on  the 
side  of  Charleroi. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

GOOD    AND    EVIL. 

It  was  toward  the  end  of  the  month  of  May.  Louis  XIV., 
accompanied  by  his  staff,  came  to  take  supreme  command 
of  the  troops  gathered  together  in  Flanders.  He  wished  to 
see,  and  still  more  he  wished  to  be  seen.  His  entire 


150  GOOD  AND  EVIL. 

household  had  followed  him,  the  companies  of  the  gardes 
du  corps  and  the  musketeers,  and  there  was  not  a  single 
gentleman  in  France  who  had  not  held  it  an  honor  to 
combat  under  his  eyes.  All  the  sons  of  the  best  houses 
who  had  no  rank  in  the  army  had  come  as  volunteers,  and 
there  was  everywhere  a  stream  of  magnificient  cavaliers 
who  ardently  prayed  for  battle.  The  king's  entrance  in 
the  camp  was  saluted  by  a  thousand  acclamations.  The 
soldiers  carried  their  hats  at  the  ends  of  their  guns,  and 
theory  of  "Vive  le  roi!"  rolled  like  thunder  from  Pan- 
delon  to  Massenal.  All  the  regiments  were  under  arms, 
and  a  thousand  streamers  floated  over  the  tents.  When 
the  king  approached  the  Chatelet,  where  the  artillery  was 
garrisoned,  Belle-Rose  felt  his  beart  beat  rapidly.  He  had 
never  seen  the  king,  and  the  king,  at  this  epoch,  was 
everything.  He  was  God  upon  the  throne  of  France. 
Every  favor  emanated  from  him,  and  his  great  renown 
formed  for  him  a  dazzling  aureole.  He  was  master  of 
peace  and  war ;  Holland,  like  a  victim,  bowed  to  his  anger, 
shivered  at  every  step  he  made ;  Spain  was  bleeding  from 
the  wounds  he  had  given  her ;  Germany  was  frightened  at 
his  ambition.  He  was  in  the  midst  of  Europe  like  a  torch 
or  a  pharos,  splendid  in  repose,  terrible  in  agitation. 
Master  of  himself  as  well  as  of  others,  Louis  XIV.  had  in 
addition  that  royal  air  which  commanded  at  the  same  time 
fear  and  respect.  To  see  him  was  to  feel  that  this  was  the 
sovereign.  When  Belle-Rose  discovered  above  the  white- 
plumed  heads  the  hat  of  the  king,  he  could  not  refrain,  in 
spite  of  the  orders,  from  rushing  forward.  Behind  Louis 
XIV.  thronged  the  flower  of  the  nobility  of  France ;  in  the 
first  ranks  were  to  be  seen  the  most  famous  captains  of 
the  epoch,  and  the  gentlemen  most  illustrious  by  their 
birth  or  their  merit.  The  king  rode  slowly ;  he  had  that 
imposing,  somewhat  haughty  aspect,  which  ihe  portraits 
of  Mignard  and  Vauder-Meulen  have  given  iiim;  he 
saluted  the  flags  of  ene  regiments  which  were  arched 
above  him  and  answered  !by  a  sign  of  the  hand  the  cries 
of  enthusiasm  which,  his  presence  excited.  Dazzled  by 
that  sparkling  cortege,  Belle-Rose  brandished  his  sword 
and  cried,  in  a  thundering  voice,  "  Vive  le  roi!"  At  this 
cry,  which  came  from  the  heart,  at  the  sight  of  that  loyal 
and  radiant  visage,  Louis  XIV.  smiled  and  saluted  the 
enthusiastic  soldier.  When  Belle-Rose  raised  his  head, 
Louis  XIV.  had  passed  on.  Three  hours  after,  the  king, 
accompanied  by  the  principal  officers  of  the  army,  took  his 
way  toward  a  chapel  situated  at  Marchionnes-au-Pont.  All 


GOOD  AND  EVIL.  151 

the  governors  of  the  neighboring  places  had  come  to  the 
camp ;  his  cortege  was  increased  by  their  suite,  in  which 
•was  to  be  remarked  a  goodly  number  of  dames  belonging 
to  the  nobility  of  Trois-Eveches,  Picardy,  and  Artois. 
Their  presence  gave  more  eclat  to  these  military  fetes,  and 
mixed  the  fascination  of  gallantry  with  this  warlike  attire. 
Monsieur  de  Naucrais'  regiment  had  been  designated  to 
line  the  road  conjointly  with  the  king's  household  and  the 
Crussol  regiments.  Belle-Rose  was  in  his  rank.  Behind 
the  king,  among  the  women  of  the  court,  one  was  the 
center  of  attraction. 

"How  beautiful  she  is!"  said  a  cornet  of  the  Crussol 
regiment,  leaning  forward  to  see  her  better. 

"VraiDieu!"  said  another  officer,  "for  that  woman  I 
would  give  my  life  and  my  mistress." 

"That  woman?"  added  a  third;  "say,  rather,  that  god- 
dess." 

Belle-Rose,  in  his  turn,  looked  in  the  direction  of  the 
ladies ;  a  flash  seemed  to  pass  before  his  dazzled  eyes ;  his 
heart  ceased  to  beat,  and  he  became  as  pale  as  a  corpse. 

Madame  de  Chateaufort,  proud  and  superb  as  Diana  the 
Huntress,  walked  in  the  middle  of  the  group.  She  still 
possessed  that  splendid  beauty  which  gave  her  the  aspect 
of  a  queen.  Her  sparkling  eyes  and  her  scornful  lips 
attracted  and  repulsed  admiration.  Nevertheless  an  inde- 
finable vail  of  melancholy  softened  the  somewhat  haughty 
expression  of  her  countenance.  At  this  moment  she  raised 
her  eyes ;  Belle-Rose  was  standing  before  her.  The  red 
lips  of  Genevieve  grew  white,  her  long  eyelashes  were 
lowered.  But  twenty  rivals  were  observing  her ;  she  raised 
her  purer  than  marble  forehead  and  passed  on.  Belle-Rose 
was  still  palpitating  under  that  humid  glance,  when  an- 
other shock  came  to  move  his  heart.  Suzanne  came  behind 
Gonevieve.  The  young  officer  wished  to  run  to  her,  but 
an  invincible  force  held  him  back ;  Suzanne  seemed  not  to 
have  seen  him,  and  nevertheless  her  lips  trembled ;  her 
profile  had  lost  nothing  of  its  angelic  purity,  but  she  was 
pale  and  resigned  like  the  daughter  of  Jeptha.  Madame 
cl'Albergotti  carried  a  flower  in  her  hand ;  in  bending  her 
forehead  she  touched  it  with  her  lips,  and  the  rose  fell. 
She  wished  to  stoop  to  pick  it  up,  but  she  encountered  the 
glance  of  Belle-Rose  and  hesitated ;  she  made  one  step, 
then  two,  and  moved  away.  A  second  after,  the  flower 
had  faded  under  the  kisses  of  Belle-Rose.  Rapid  though 
this  movement  had  been,  it  did  not  escape  Madame  de 
Chateaufort ;  she  saw  it,  looked  at  the  woman  who  was 


152  GOOD  AND  EVIL. 

passing  with  bowed  head,  and  her  heart  told  her  that  it 
was  the  mysterious  Suzanne  whose  name  had  so  often 
made  her  tremble  at  the  bedside  of  Belle-Rose.  The  pres- 
ence of  Suzanne  at  the  camp  was  explained  by  the  nomina- 
tion of  Monsieur  d'Albergotti  to  the  governorship  of 
Charleroi.  As  to  Genevieve,  she  had  followed  her  hus- 
band, whom  a  court  intrigue  had  some  time  since  stripped 
of  his  governorship,  and  who  had  hastened  to  learn  the 
cause  of  his  recall.  After  the  mass  and  prayers  offered  to 
the  God  of  armies,  the  king  withdrew  to  his  apartments ; 
the  troops  dispersed,  and  Belle-Rose,  who  had  only  one 
thought  and  one  desire,  took  his  way  to  the  residence  of 
Suzanne.  His  hand,  concealed  under  his  coat,  crushed  the 
flower  against  his  breast ;  it  had  a  penetrating  odor  which 
intoxicated  him,  and  its  embalmed  petals  were  like  hot 
iron  which  burned  him.  Madame  d'Albergotti's  residence 
was  near  Coule,  in  a  place  which  might  pass  for  solitary. 
Only  six  companies  of  dragoons  were  to  be  seen  there. 
Belle-Rose  turned  a  hedge  which  defended  the  approach  to 
the  house  and  pushed  open  a  gate  which  closed"  the  en- 
trance to  the  garden.  A  burst  of  half-restrained  laughter 
stopped  him.  The  garden  seemed  deserted  like  the  house; 
no  one  was  to  be  seen,  but  the  branches  of  an  elder  shook 
in  front  of  him,  and  behind  the  trembling  foliage  he  dis- 
covered the  fresh  and  smiling  face  of  a  young  girl. 

"Claudine!"  he  exclaimed,  and  his  extended  arms 
pushed  aside  the  slight  rampart  which  separated  him  from 
his  sister. 

He  had  perceived  Claudine  first ;  he  afterward  saw  Cor- 
nelius. 

"Both  together,"  he  said  to  them;  "my  sister  and  my 
brother." 

At  these  words,  which  united  them  in  the  thought  of 
Belle- Rose,  Claudine  blushed. 

"Oh!"  said  she,  with  a  smile  upon  her  lips  and  with 
lowered  eyes,  "Monsieur  O'Brien  has  scarcely  been  here 
two  minutes." 

"Perhaps  your  memory  is  slightly  in  delay,"  said  Belle- 
Rose;  "but  it  is  a  soft  error  of  which  happiness  alone  has 
the  privilege." 

Cornelius  extended  his  hand  to  the  young  lieutenant. 

"I  shall  no  longer  quit  you,"  he  said  to  him ;  "our  two 
kings  are  allies,  and  our  hands  are  united.  My  place  is 
here.  A  soldier,  I  shall  fight  like  a  soldier." 

But  Belle-Rose  had  at  this  moment  all  th«  egotism  of 
love ;  he  also  wished  a  little  of  that  joy  which  Cornelius 


GOOD  AND  EVIL.  153 

and  Claudine  were  tasting.  Like  those  talismans  which 
light  fever  in  the  heart  of  those  who  touch  them,  the  rose 
dropped  by  Suzanne  had  irritated  his  ardor. 

"Claudine,"  said  he,  quite  low,  to  his  sister,  "is  Madame 
d'Albergotti  here?" 

At  this  name,  Claudine's  face  grew  melancholy. 

"Yes,"  said  she. 

"Can  I  see  her — speak  to  her?" 

"Brother,  it  is  a  had  thought ;  hut  it  shall  not  he  said 
that  I  refused  you  anything  on  the  day  you  returned  to 
me.  Wait  here." 

And,  lighter  than  a  bird,  Claudine  flew  toward  the 
house.  Cornelius,  with  a  reserve  natural  to  the  people  of 
his  nation,  had  withdrawn  to  one  side.  Belle- Eose  leaned 
against  a  tree  and  closed  his  eyes.  Claudine  returned  in 
about  five  minutes.  She  was  very  pale  and  held  a  letter  in 
her  hand.  On  seeing  this  letter,  Belle-Rose  lost  all  hope. 

"She  does  not  wish  it?"  said  he. 

"•Read, "  replied  Claudine,  and  tendering  the  letter  to 
her  brother,  she  turned  aside  her  head  in  order  to  conceal 
a  tear  which  moistened  her  eyes. 

Belle-Rose  broke  the  seal  and  read.  He  saw  as  through 
a  cloud. 

"I  saw  you  nearly  a  quarter  of  an  hour  ago,  my  friend,"  the  letter 
said.  "I  ran  to  the  door,  drawn  by  an  irresistible  impulse  ;  an  un- 
known power  has  riveted  me  to  the  threshold.  Since  I  met  you  on 
my  way  to  the  chapel,  I  have  been  like  one  mad.  What  prayers  I  have 
addressed  to  led !  All  my  strength  has  failed,  and  'tis  then  your 
sister  has  come  to  tell  me  that  you  were  expecting  a  word  which  should 
call  you  to  me !  This  word,  I  will  acknowledge,  my  friend,  my  mouth 
has  pronounced  twenty  times.  And  now  I  hesitate  !  Oh  !  I  do  not 
even  hesitate !  No,  my  friend,  you  cannot,  you  must  not  see  me 
again.  You  have  the  noise  of  war  to  aid  you  to  forget ;  I  have  nothing 
except  prayers.  Do  you  wish  to  take  from  me  the  only  exile  in  which 
my  soul  can  still  take  refuge  ?  Make  a  step,  come,  and  I  am  without 
defense,  and  when  you  leave  me,  happy  to  have  seen  me  again,  I  shall 
die.  SUZANNE." 

On  reading  this  Belle-Rose's  heart  was  broken;  he 
pressed  the  letter  to  his  lips  and  recoiled. 

"So  frail  of  body  and  so  strong  of  soul!"  he  murmured. 

Claudine  passed  her  arms  around  her  brother's  neck. 

"Come,"  she  said  to  him,  "come." 

As  they  were  crossing  the  garden  gate,  a  superior  officer 
presented  himself  before  them.  He  was  a  man  already 
old,  but  who  appeared  still  more  so  on  account  of  his 


154  GOOD  AND  EVIL. 

slightly  stooping  form  and  the  difficulty  which  he  experi- 
enced in  walking. 

"Good-day,  my  child,"  he  said  to  Claudine,  with  a 
kindly  air,  and  he  saluted  the  two  young  people. 

But  in  passing  before  Belle-Rose,  he  looked  at  him  with 
so  singular  an  expression,  that  the  latter  could  not  refrain 
from  lowering  his  eyes ;  it  seemed  to  him  that  this  look 
searched  the  depths  of  his  heart  and  read  his  most  secret 
thoughts.  After  a  short  moment  given  to  this  mute  ob- 
servation, the  old  officer  entered  the  garden.  Belle-Rose 
turned  to  Claudine  as  if  to  question  her. 

"It  is  Monsieur  d'Albergotti, "  said  she. 

And  she  immediately  added,  to  dissipate  a  sad  preoccu- 
pation : 

"A  great  joy  is  reserved  to  you,  my  brother." 

"What  is  it?"  said  Belle-Rose,  whose  mind  was  else- 
where. 

"My  friend,  you  are  going  to  see  again  the  honest  old 
falconer  whom  I  have  conducted  from  St.  Omer  to  the 
camp,"  said  Cornelius. 

Belle-Rose  embraced  Cornelius. 

"Guillaume  Grinedal  and  Pierre,"  said  he,  "but  where 
are  they,  then?" 

"At  the  quarters  of  the  artillery." 

Belle-Rose  ran  in  that  direction,  followed  at  a  distance 
by  Claudine  and  Cornelius.  The  falconer  and  his  young 
son  were  proud  to  have  an  officer  in  the  family.  They  had 
been  waiting  for  him  since  morning,  and  as  soon  as  they 
saw  him  each  of  them  extended  his  arms. 

"I  bring  you  a  recruit,"  said  the  old  falconer  to  Jacques, 
after  the  first  embraces. 

"Pierre,  I  imagine,"  said  Jacques,  smiling  at  his 
brother. 

"Yes;  he  also  wishes  to  become  an  officer  of  the  king." 

"Well,"  said  Belle-Rose,  "let  him  take  a  musket;  the 
musket  leads  to  the  sword. ' ' 

Monsieur  de  Naucrais  had  charged  Deroute  to  say  to  his 
lieutenant  that  he  could  absent  himself  till  night. 

"Discipline  and  family  do  not  go  together,"  he  had 
said;  "let  him  be  all  to  the  one  to-day  so  he  shall  be  all  to 
the  other  to-morrow." 

While  Belle-Rose,  accompanied  by  his  father,  Cornelius, 
Claudine,  and  Pierre,  went  to  seek  a  little  silence  and  re- 
pose in  a  neighboring  village,  the  Lorraine  was  prowling 
about  the  camp.  After  having  acquired  an  exact  knowl- 
edge of  the  localities,  the  Lorraine  moved  away.  Conrad 


THE  CONFESSION  OF  A  MAGDALEN.  155 

made  his  way  to  a  ravine  near  the  camp,  where  he  estab- 
lished himself  for  the  night.  He  wished  to  be  ready  to 
profit  by  circumstances.  About  nine  o'clock,  Belle-Rose 
had  separated  from  his  father,  to  whom  Claudine  had 
offered  lodging  in  Madame  d'Albergofcti's  house,  and  made 
his  way  back  to  his  quarters.  Deroute,  who,  in  spite  of 
his  grade,  had  constituted  himself  the  lieutenant's  regular 
guard,  was  promenading  before  the  tent. 

"My  lieutenant,"  said  he  to  Belle-Rose,  "were  you 
expecting  some  one  this  evening?" 

"No." 

"Then  some  one  was  undoubtedly  expecting  you." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"It  is  very  simple.  A  young  man  came  an  hour  ago  to 
inquire  if  you  were  at  home.  Upon  my  negative  reply,  he 
asked  me  if  he  could  wait  for  you  here.  'It  is  an  affair  of 
importance,'  he  added." 

"And  how  did  you  answer  him?" 

"That  he  was  perfectly  at  liberty  to  wait  for  you  till  to- 
morrow, if  it  so  pleased  him.  I  had  no  sooner  finished 
than  he  was  already  in  your  tent." 

"In  my  tent?" 

"Where  he  still  is. " 

Belle-Rose  pushed  aside  the  canvas  which  closed  the 
entrance.  At  the  noise  of  his  arrival  the  young  man,  who 
was  seated  upon  a  chest,  arose.  It  was  Genevieve  de 
Chateaufort. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE  CONFESSION  OF  A  MAGDALEN. 

At  sight  of  the  duchess,  Belle-Rose  leaned  toward  the 
opening. 

"Deroute,"  said  he,  "stay  here,  and  no  matter  who 
comes,  do  not  let  them  enter." 

"Well!"  said  the  sergeant,  and  he  sat  down  in  the 
moonlight  upon  the  trunk  of  a  tree,  his  pike  between  his 
knees. 

When  the  curtain  had  fallen  back,  Belle-Rose  advanced 
to  Madame  de  Chateaufort,  who  was  trembling  all  over. 

"What  do  you  come  to  do  here,  madame,  and  what  do 
you  wish  with  me?"  he  said  to  her,  in  a  voice  which  he 
tried  to  render  firm  and  which  trembled. 

"I  come,"  said  she,  "like  a  culprit  before  his  judge. 


156  THE  CONFESSION  OF  A  MAGDALEN. 

Oh!"  she  said,  at  the  gesture  of  Belle-Rose,  "do  not  re- 
pulse me;  if  your  heart  has  condemned  me,  at  least  hear 
me." 

'  'And  what  have  you  to  tell  me  that  I  do  not  already 
know,  madame?" 

"The  whole  truth;  I  will  speak  to  you  as  a  penitent 
speaks  at  the  confessional  of  God.  In  pity  listen  to  me.  It 
is  no  longer  in  the  name  of  your  love  that  I  call  upon  you ; 
it  is  in  the  name  of  justice.  Have  not  the  condemned  the 
right  to  defend  themselves?" 

Genevieve  trembled  so  strongly  that  she  had  to  lean 
against  one  of  the  pickets  of  the  tent  to  keep  from  falling. 
The  disorder  and  grief  of  this  woman,  once  so  proud, 
touched  Belle-Rose. 

"Speak,  then,"  said  he.  "I  also  have  a  mission  to  dis- 
charge with  regard  to  you,  and  I  will  take  this  oppor- 
tunity to  discharge  it." 

"First  listen  to  me,  and  kill  me  afterward,  if  it  is  your 
will,"  said  Genevieve. 

"Take  care,  madame,  it  is  not  a  vain  threat  on  my  part. 
You  have  a  terrible  account  to  render,  perhaps  you  are 
going  to  force  me  to  avenge  a  dead  man. ' ' 

"Avenge  him?  Oh!"  said  she,  "you  will  not  avenge  him 
by  killing  me." 

The  expression  of  the  look  and  voice  were  so  heart- 
rending, the  sense  of  these  words  was  so  clear,  that  Belle- 
Rose  felt  moved  to  the  very  bottom  of  his  heart. 

"Speak!"  he  said  fco  her;  "speak!  you  know  well,  what- 
ever happens,  that  it  is  not  I  who  can  punish  you." 

Madame  de  Chateaufort  silently  took  the  hand  of  Belle- 
Rose  and  carried  it  to  her  lips.  This  mute  kiss  traversed 
the  young  officer's  veins  like  a  flame.  He  felt  his  courage 
weaken,  and  disengaging  his  hand  from  the  clasp  of 
Genevieve,  he  made  her  a  sign  to  sit  down.  Genevieve  sat 
down ;  her  face  was  as  pale  and  woe-begone  as  the  marble 
visage  of  Niobe;  her  respiration  was  oppressed,  and  in 
spite  of  the  precocious  warmth  of  the  season,  her  teeth 
chattered. 

"Renounce  this  explanation,"  Belle-Rose  said  to  her; 
"I  have  only  one  question  to  address  you — only  one.  Your 
answer  will  suffice. ' ' 

"You  shall  know  nothing,  or  you  shall  know  all,"  said 
the  duchess,  firmly.  "You  are  my  judge  and  my  master; 
listen  to  me." 

Belle-Rose  knew  Madame  de  Chateaufort  too  well  to 
misunderstand  the  accent  of  her  voice.  Even  in  the  sub- 


THE  CONFESSION  OF  A  MAGDALEN.  157 

mission  of  this  woman  there  was  something  queen-like 
which  commanded  obedience.  He  was  silent  and  waited. 

"1  was  fifteen,"  she  resumed,  "when  I  saw  Monsieur 
d'Assonville  for  the  first  time.  The  wars  of  the  Fronde 
were  then  staining  France  with  hlood.  I  was  living  with 
my  mother,  a  Spanish  woman  allied  to  the  family  of  the 
Medinas,  in  a  chateau  near  Ecouen. " 

"I  know  it,"  said  Belle-Rose. 

"One  evening  as  I  was  walking  by  myself  in  the  park,  I 
heard  the  noise  of  musket-shots  in  the  neighborhood ;  fear 
seized  me,  and  I  began  to  run  in  the  direction  of  the 
chateau.  All  at  once,  at  a  turn  in  the  path,  an  officer 
presents  himself  to  me ;  he  was  pale,  frightened,  bloody. 
'Save  me,'  he  said  to  me,  in  a  dying  voice,  and  he  rolled 
over  at  the  foot  of  a  tree.  A  short  distance  off  was  to  be 
heard  the  trampling  of  a  troop  of  horsemen.  I  rushed  to 
the  little  gate  of  the  park ;  but  it  was  too  late— the  chief 
of  the  band  had  perceived  me. 

"  'Have  you  seen  an  officer?'  said  he. 

"God  inspired  me  with  the  courage  to  lie. 

"  'No,'  1  resolutely  answered,  'I  heard  the  firing  and  ran 
up  to  close  the  gate. ' 

"While  speaking  I  felt  myself  swooning,  but  my  eyes 
did  not  quit  the  chevalier. 

"  'Then  you  are  not  afraid?'  said  he. 

"  'Afraid !  I  am  the  daughter  of  Monsieur  de  La  Noue, 
who  is  a  good  gentleman. ' 

"  'Well!  he  belongs  to  our  party,'  said  the  cavalier,  and 
he  plunged  into  the  wood. 

"When  the  troop  had  disappeared,  I  shut  the  gate  and 
returned  to  the  officer,  whom  I  found  upon  the  grass.  He 
was  busy  stanching  the  blood  which  camo  from  his 
wounds. 

"  'You  have  nothing  more  to  fear, '  I  said  to  him.  'If  you 
can  still  walk,  lean  upon  me,  and  I  will  aid  you  to  gain  a 
pavilion  which  is  not  far  from  here. ' 

"The  officer  arose,  and,  after  many  efforts,  we  reached 
this  pavilion,  which  was  then  inhabited. 

"Monsieur  d'Assonville  told  me  that  you  saved  him," 
interrupted  Belle-Rose. 

"And  did  he  also  tell  you  that  I  had  loved  him?" 

Belle-Rose  bowed. 

"His  wounds  were  numerous,  but  not  at  all  grave,"  re- 
sumed Madame  de  Chateaufort.  "With  the  aid  of  my 
nurse  and  her  husband,  who  were  devoted  to  me,  I  was 
able  to  conceal  and  protect  Monsieur  d'Assonville.  My 


158  THE  CONFESSION  OF  A  MAGDALEN. 

father  was  a  Frondeur,  and  I  did  not  dare  to  speak  to  him 
of  this  adventure,  not  having  at  that  time  a  just  idea  of 
this  war.  Besides,  the  mystery  of  our  interviews  pleased 
my  young  imagination,  and  it  was  sweet  to  me  to  think 
that  I  was  playing  for  an  unhappy  young  officer  the  role 
of  an  assisting  fairy.  My  mother,  who  was  of  a  soft  and 
timid  character,  and  who  would  have  re  sealed  everything 
to-Monsieur  de  La  None,  of  whom  she  was  much  afraid, 
knew  nothing  of  all  this  affair. 

"Monsieur  d'Assonville  recovered.  He  was  young, 
spiritual,  and  handsome;  he  loved  me  and  I  loved  him. 
He  was  still  languishing  and  weak  when  I  already  be- 
longed to  him.  Which  of  us  was  the  most  guilty — she  who, 
still  young  and  inexperienced,  abandoned  herself  to  the 
love  of  an  unfortunate  whom  she  had  saved,  or  he  who,  of 
the  innocent  young  girl,  his  host,  and  his  protectress, 
made  his  mistress?" 

"Do  not  accuse  the  dead,"  said  Belle-Rose. 

"1  do  not  accuse,  I  relate.  Soon,  however, "  continued 
Madame  de  Chateaufort,  "Monsieur  d'Assonville  had  to  go 
away.  The  war  and  the  opposing  parties  in  which  my 
father  and  he  served  banished  every  thought  of  marriage. 
At  times  he  escaped  and  came  to  see  me  at  the  pavilion. 
How  many  days  of  gloom  were  these  hours  of  intoxication 
to  bring!  Meanwhile  my  mother  died,  and  the  despair  in- 
spired in  me  by  this  death  revealed  to  me  also  that  I  was 
a  mother." 

As  Genevieve  spoke,  two  great  tears  rolled  down  her 
cheeks. 

"Poor  woman!"  murmured  Belle-Rose. 

"Oh,  yes!  poor  woman!"  resumed  Genevieve,  "for  what 
I  was  then,  I  no  longer  am  to-day,  and  what  I  have  be- 
come, I  would  not  have  been  without  that  shame  and  that 
sorrow  of  my  youth!  The  next  day, "  she  continued,  "I 
wrote  to  Monsieur  d'Assonville;  my  letter  remained  un- 
answered ;  I  wrote  again,  I  wrote  twenty  times ;  silence 
and  abandonment  surrounded  me ;  I  believed  that  he  had 
forgotten  me,  and  had  it  not  been  for  my  child,  I  would 
have  killed  myself.  I  was  then  under  the  care  of  an  aged 
aunt,  my  father's  sister,  rough  and  severe  like  him.  My 
nurse  alone  saw  me  weep  and  consoled  me.  There  was 
then  at  the  chateau  a  young  Spaniard,  related  to  me  on 
my  mother's  side,  who  had  obtained  a  safe-conduct  to 
visit  France.  My  sadness  astonished  and  afflicted  him.  I 
soon  understood  that  he  loved  me ;  the  unhappy  have  need 
of  affection,  and  I  was  profoundly  grateful  to  him  for  all 


THE  CONFESSION  OF  A  MAGDALEN.  159 

the  cares  with  which  he  surrounded  me.  Perhaps  I  was 
even  more  attached  to  him  than  I  let  it  appear;  but  my 
position  called  for  an  extreme  reserve,  and  I  never  let  him 
see  how  much  I  was  touched  by  his  love.  We  were  often 
to  be  seen  together  in  the  park.  These  innocent  walks 
were  the  cause  of  his  death.  One  day  as  I  was  waiting  for 
him  in  a  path  where  we  were  accustomed  to  meet,  he  did 
not  come.  At  dinner  I  was  informed  that  he  had  gone 
away  during  the  morning  with  a  young  man.  A  guard 
had  seen  them  talking  in  a  lively  manner  and  then  go 
away  together.  A  vague  inquietude  seized  me,  and  I  rose 
from  the  table  in  a  state  of  agitation  which  I  could  not 
subdue.  When  misfortune  touches  us  with  its  wing,  we 
have  these  kind  of  presentiments.  An  hour  after  two 
woodmen  brought  back  to  the  chateau  the  Spaniard, 
whom  they  had  found  in  a  corner  of  the  wood,  his  breast 
traversed  by  a  sword  thrust.  There  was  no  longer  any 
hope  to  save  him.  When  he  saw  me,  he  took  my  hands  in 
his,  kissed  them,  and  died.  Never  shall  I  forget  the  ex- 
pression of  his  last  looks ;  they  were  so  sad  and  so  full  of 
love,  that  I  began  to  weep  like  a  madwoman.  It  seemed 
to  me  at  that  moment  that  I  also  loved  him  and  that  I  was 
losing  with  him  my  last  hope." 

"And  the  murderer's  name?"  said  Belle-Rose. 

"I  found  it  out  later  on;  as  to  my  poor  friend,  he  died 
with  his  secret  in  his  heart  and  my  name  upon  his  lips. 
Three  days  after  I  received  a  letter  from  Monsieur  d'As- 
sonville;  it  was  dated  from  Paris  and  informed  me  that, 
having  returned  from  a  secret  mission  to  Italy,  he  was 
about  to  leave  for  England,  where  he  was  sent  by  an  order 
from  Cardinal  Mazarin.  He  would  not  be  gone  long  and 
begged  me  to  count  upon  him.  It  was  to  be  seen  that  he 
still  loved  me,  but  his  language  was  more  grave.  Besides, 
it  did  not  appear  that  he  had  received  any  of  my  letters. 

"This  mission,  which  was  to  last  fifteen  days  or  three 
weeks,  was  still  unfinished  at  the  end  of  three  months. 
My  father  had  returned.  My  days  fled  like  somber  dreams, 
and  at  night  I  wept.  My  thoughts  went  from  Gaston  to 
Don  Pedro — that  was  my  cousin's  name — and  I  must  ac- 
knowledge, my  sympathies  and  my  regrets  were  for  him 
who  was  no  more.  He  had  loved  and  consoled  me;  the 
other  had  ruined  me.  It  happened  one  evening  that  Mon- 
sieur d'Assonville's  name  was  pronounced  by  a  gentleman 
who  was  visiting  us.  At  this  name,  my  father  flew  into 
an  unexpected  rage,  and  I  learned  that  Monsieur  de  La 
Noue  had  been  beaten  and  wounded  in  an  encounter  with 


160  THE  CONFESSION  OF  A  MAGDALEN. 

Gaston's  father.  Monsieur  de  La  None  had  been  humili- 
ated in  his  pride  as  a  soldier ;  the  wound  was  incurable. 
My  future  grew  more  and  more  dark;  I  did  not  wish  to 
think  of  it  and  dream  of  it  constantly ;  I  had  hours  of  wild 
gayety  and  days  of  mournful  despair.  Grief  consumed  my 
heart.  Meanwhile,  the  Court  and  Parliament  had  con- 
cluded their  alliance,  and  my  father  informed  me  that  he 
had  resolved  to  marry  me  to  a  rich  lord  of  the  king's 
party,  and  that  I  must  hold  myself  in  readiness.  He  told 
me  this  as  he  was  about  to  leave.  When  I  recovered  from 
my  surprise,  Monsieur  de  La  Noue  was  galloping  a  quarter 
of  a  league  away.  Meanwhile,  Monsieur  d'Assonville  in- 
formed me  of  his  return,  and  the  same  night  I  saw  him 
again  in  the  little  pavilion.  On  learning  that  I  was  going 
to  be  a  mother,  he  exhibited  a  joy  so  keen  that  my  tender- 
ness was  reawakened.  He  kissed  my  hands  and  wept  with 
intoxication  at  my  knees. 

"  'Then  you  still  love  me?'  he  said  to  me. 

"  'Yes,'  I  answered,  and  I  meant  it  at  the  time. 

"  'And  during  this  long  absence  which  duty  has  imposed 
upon  me,  has  no  one  come  to  trouble  your  heart?'  he 
added. 

"  'Whatdoyou  mean?'  I  asked.  'Have  I  not  always  been 
alone?  For  a  moment  I  had  with  me  a  friend,  a  brother; 
he  has  always  been  kind,  tender,  affectionate ;  he  consoled 
me,  and  he  is  dead. ' 

"  'Will  you  pardon  me,  Genevieve?'  Gaston  suddenly 
said  to  me. 

"I  looked  at  him,  frightened  already  at  the  sound  of  his 
voice. 

"  'This  friend — 'tis  I  who  killed  him!'  said  he. 

"I  uttered  a  terrible  cry  at  this  avowal,  and  I  jerked 
my  hands  away  from  those  of  Monsieur  d'Assonville ;  it 
seemed  to  me  that  I  saw  blood  upon  them. 

"  'Do  not  curse  me,  Genevieve,'  he  said  to  me;  'I  loved 
you,  I  was  jealous.  When  I  came  back  from  Italy,  at  the 
first  inn  at  which  I  stopped  in  Ecouen,  your  name  was 
pronounced  along  with  that  of  Don  Pedro.  It  was  said 
that  you  loved  each  other.  I  became  mad,  and  the  first 
person  whom  I  met  in  the  park  was  he.  We  were  young 
and  both  of  us  armed ;  you  know  the  rest.  I  left  without 
seeing  you.  Alas!  I  accused  you,  and  you  were  a  mother!' 

"He  talked  a  long  time,  but  I  did  not  hear  him.  A  con- 
fused noise  filled  my  ears,  my  heart  was  wrenched  and  I 
fainted.  When  I  came  to  myself,  a  child  was  weeping  at 
my  side." 


THE  CONFESSION  OF  A  MAGDALEN.  161 

"A  child!"  repeated  Belle-Rose;  "it  is  with  it  that  ray 
mission  is  concerned." 

"Eh!"  said  Genevieve,  "your  mission  will  be  easy. 
What  you  wish,  I  wish.  A  burning  fever  riveted  me  to 
that  bed  of  suffering,"  she  continued;  "to  that  bed  where 
I  had  for  my  child  only  kisses  bathed  in  tears.  I  do  not 
know  how  long  this  delirium  lasted;  my  nurse  drove 
every  one  out  of  the  room ;  my  aunt,  steeped  in  devotion, 
barely  saw  me  a  minute  on  returning  from  the  chapel  of 
the  chateau.  I  was  convalescent  when  my  father  returned. 

"  'I  bring  you  a  husband,  the  seigneur  of  whom  I  have 
spoken  to  you, '  he  said  to  me,  before  having  embraced  me, 
and  he  presented  him  to  me  at  once." 

"It  was  the  Due  de  Chateaufort?"  said  Belle-Rose. 

"Yes,  Monsieur  d'Assonville  had  disappeared  since  the 
scene  in  the  pavilion.  He  had  believed  in  my  treason ;  in 
my  turn  I  believed  in  his  forgetfulness.  After  a  month  of 
hesitation,  ]  married  the  duke.  Three  days  after,  I  saw 
Monsieur  d'Assonville  again ;  left  for  dead  in  a  combat  in 
which  my  father  had  taken  part,  he  had  owed  his  life  to 
the  charitable  cares  of  miserable  peasants,  who  had  found 
him  upon  the  fiald  of  battle.  His  grief  frightened  me ;  his 
reproaches,  at  the  same  time  bitter  and  passionate,  melted 
my  heart.  He  loved  me,  but  I  no  longer  loved  him.  We 
met  then  in  a  little  house  in  the  Rue  Cassette,  where  I 
had  established  my  nurse.  These  meetings  were  turn  by 
turn  sweet  and  bitter  to  me;  for  him  they  were  intoxi- 
cating or  terrible.  This  life  became  intolerable  to  me. 
One  day  I  informed  him  of  my  desire  to  break  off  our 
relations.  He  resisted.  He  offered  to  carry  me  away,  to 
quit  France,  and  to  go  to  live  at  the  end  of  the  world  with 
our  child.  This  proposition  came  too  late ;  I  no  longer 
loved  him. 

"  'You  refuse,'  he  said  to  me;  'well,  if  I  do  not  have  the 
mother,  I  shall  at  least  have  the  child. ' 

"This  threat  reached  my  heart.  My  child  was  my  life, 
my  refuge,  my  hope,  my  joy.  Its  smiles  lit  up  my  despair. 
When  I  was  tired  of  living,  I  embraced  it,  and  I  forgot 
myself. 

" 'My  child!' I  exclaimed,  and  I  felt  in  me  all  at  once 
that  strength  and  that  energy  which  had  so  long  slept  in 
the  heart  of  the  virgin.  'The  child  belongs  to  the  mother, 
and  you  wish  to  snatch  it  from  me.  It  shall  not  be,  I 
swear  it!' 

"The  next  day  the  child  had  disappeared.  Monsieur 
d'Assonville  had  not  the  time  to  devote  to  long  researches, 


162  THE  CONFESSION  OF  A  MAGDALEN. 

the  war  which  had  just  burst  out  in  Flanders  obliged  him 
to  leave  Paris,  and  I  remained  alone.  My  husband  had  a 
high  position  at  court.  I  was  young  and  beautiful,  I  wished 
to  forget,  I  wished  to  deceive  the  imagination.  I  accepted 
every  distraction  which  offered  itself  to  me.  I  soon  ob- 
tained influence  and  I  made  use  of  it.  It  was  not  long  be- 
fore I  loved  or  thought  I  loved.  I  made  of  my  existence  a 
whirlwind;  I  had  every  kind  of  success,  I  tasted  every 
kind  of  pleasure;  the  women  envied  me,  the  men  admired 
me,  I  was  believed  to  be  happy,  and  I  was  only  mad.  How 
many  times  have  I  not  wept  the  whole  night  in  my 
oratory,  like  a  Magdalen  at  the  feet  of  Christ !  And  then 
the  next  day  there  were  fetes  and  follies. 

"Oh,  my  God!"  said  Genevieve,  sobbing,  "I  tell  you 
all,  Jacques,  and  you  will  hate  me,  perhaps  despise  me. 
I  curse  that  time  of  errors.  If  my  blood  could  efface  them, 
I  would  shed  it  drop  by  drop.  Can  it  indeed  be  that  I, 
the  daughter  of  my  sainted  mother,  have  traversed  such  a 
route?  My  God !  let  me  believe  that  you  will  pardon  me; 
I  only  ask  for  a  little  of  that  pity  which  you  have  for  the 
unfortunate,"  said  the  duchess,  taking  Belle-Eose  by  the 
hands,  "and  though  you  should  curse  me,  I  will  always 
bless  you ;  yes,  I  will  bless  you  because  you  have  drawn 
me  from  that  wretched  life,  because  you  have  given  me 
back  love,  youth,  and  faith ;  because  you  have  made  de- 
scend into  my  heart  a  ray  of  joy  and  purity,  because  I 
love  you!" 

Genevieve  covered  Belle-Rose's  hand  with  tears  and 
kisses.  Belle-Rose  softly  withdrew  it. 

"Pardon  you!"  said  he;  "lam  not  your  judge,  and  I 
cannot  hate  you." 

Genevieve  raised  her  arms  to  heaven. 

"Thanks,  my  God!"  said  she;  "he  has  not  repulsed  me." 

" You  know, "  she  resumed,  after  a  moment's  silence, 
"under  what  circumstances  I  met  you.  You  have  handed 
me  three  letters  from  Monsieur  d'Assonville  at  the  little 
house  in  the  Rue  Cassette ;  one  of  these  letters  entreated ; 
the  other  implored  and  threatened  at  the  same  time ;  the 
last  only  contained  menaces." 

"And  it  is  to  the  last  one  you  have  given  way?"  said 
Belle-Rose. 

"You  well  know,  Jacques, "  replied  the  duchess,  with 
an  accent  of  pride,  "that  fear  has  no  dominion  over  me.  I 
gave  way  to  this  letter,  because  between  the  first  and  the 
last,  I  had  arranged  everything  for  my  interview  with 


THE  CONFESSION  OF  A  MAGDALEN.  163 

Monsieur  d'Assonville,   and  that  at  this    interview  our 
child  was  to  assist." 

"You  would  have  done  this,  Genevieve?"  exclaimed 
Belle-Eose. 

"I  was  going  to  do  it,  when  I  learned  that  Monsieur 
d'Assonville  had  charged  an  unknown  person  to  represent 
him.  This  discovery  made  me  indignant ;  I  believed  that 
he  had  revealed  our  secret,  and  I  resolved  to  have  by 
cunning,  or  force  if  need  be,  the  papers  which  might  com- 
promise me." 

"Then  you  have  suspected  a  gentleman  so  loyal  as  Mon- 
sieur d'Assonville?" 

"Alas!  when  one  is  accustomed  to  practice  evil,  one 
quickly  forgets  belief  in  the  good.  But,"  Genevieve 
hastened  to  add,  "in  having  you  come  to  the  pavilion, 
where  I  received  you  masked,  my  intention  was  only  to 
oblige  you  to  hand  over  to  me  the  papers  which  stated  the 
rights  of  Monsieur  d'Assonville;  sure  then  that  he  could 
not  take  my  son  from  me,  I  would  have  given  way  to  his 
affection.  I  was  already  tired  of  that  adventurous  life  in 
which  every  distraction  was  tainted  with  poison.  I  saw 
you,  you  have  saved  me,  you  were  young,  valiant,  gener- 
ous, and  proud.  You  know  how  much  I  loved  you  at  once. 
I  saw  through  you  as  one  sees  through  a  limpid  stream, 
and  your  valiant  nature  gave  back  to  mine  a  little  of  its 
youth  and  its  freshness.  Oh !  why  was  I  not  a  young  girl 
then?  I  would  have  been  worthy  of  you.  Perhaps  you 
would  have  loved  me." 

"Genevieve!  Genevieve!"  exclaimed  Belle-Rose  agitated 
by  this  outburst,  "say,  did  I  not  love  j'ou?" 

At  this  cry  a  flash  of  joy  illuminated  the  pale  face  of 
Genevieve. 

"You  have  loved  me,"  said  she;  "is  it  indeed  true?  Is 
it  pity  which  causes  you  to  say  so,  or  is  it  the  impulse  of 
your  heart?  I  have  been  loved !  I  have  had  my  part  of 
happiness,  and  you  will  not  curse  me,  and  you  will  have 
at  times  my  name  upon  your  lips !  What  must  I  do,  say? 
Your  will  will  be  my  law ;  speak,  and  I  obey.  But  do  not 
banish  me  from  your  recollection.  Wherever  I  go,  and 
whatever  happens  to  me,  permit  me  to  carry  away  a  word 
which  consoles  me  and  elevates  me.  Jacques,  my  friend, 
your  hand !  my  God !  your  hand !" 

Jacques  took  Genevieve's  head  between  his  hands  and 
kissed  her  on  the  forehead. 

"You  have  loved,  you  have  suffered !  may  God  pardon 
you!''  said  he. 


164  A  TRAP. 

At  this  kiss,  an  unhoped-for  joy  filled  the  heart  of 
Genevieve.  She  threw  back  her  head  and  wound  her 
feeble  arms  around  Belle-Rose's  neck. 

"My  God!  I  no  longer  suffer,"  said  she. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

A  TRAP. 

The  next  morning,  when  Belle-Rose  opened  his  eyes,  he 
was  alone.  For  one  moment  he  believed  that  a  feverish 
dream  had  troubled  his  imagination ;  silence  surrounded 
him,  but  a  vague  and  sweet  perfume  with  which  the  air 
was  impregnated  recalled  to  him  the  fact  that  Madame  de 
Chateaufort  had  come  to  his  tent.  He  arose  somewhat 
troubled,  and  as  he  was  seeking  everywhere,  expecting  to 
see  her  rise  from  some  direction,  his  gaze  fell  upon  a 
faded  rose  whose  petals  strewed  the  ground  at  the  foot  of 
the  bed.  At  this  sight,  the  young  officer  covered  his  face 
with  his  hands. 

"Oh,  my  God!"  said  he,  "yesterday  I  still  loved 
Suzanne." 

His  eyes  could  not  quit  the  poor,  abandoned  flower 
whose  indiscernible  perfumes  mounted  to  his  heart  like  a 
reproach.  He  stooped  sadly,  and  picking  up  the  withered 
petals,  he  placed  them  in  a  medallion,  which  he  wore 
suspended  to  his  neck. 

"Poor  leaves!"  he  murmured,  pressing  them  to  his  lips, 
"you  are  still  sweet  and  fragrant  like  her  from  whom  you 
come. ' ' 

At  this  instant  Sergeant  Deroute  entered  his  tent. 

"There  is  a  man  here  asking  for  you,"  he  said  to  him. 

"Do  you  know  him?" 

"No,  but  it  is  to  you  alone  that  he  wishes  to  speak." 

"It  is  well;  let  him  wait  a  minute,  and  I  am  at  his 
service." 

Belle-Rose  slipped  his  sword  into  his  belt,  clasped  his 
coat,  took  up  his  hat,  and  went  out.  The  Lorraine  was 
waiting  for  him  before  the  door. 

"What  do  you  want  with  me?"  Belle-Rose  said  to  him. 

"I  wish  to  see  Jacques  Grinedal,  lieutenant  of  artillery 
in  the  regiment  of  LaFerte, "  replied  the  rascal,  who  in- 
tended to  conscientiously  carry  out  his  mission.  "Is  it 
indeed  to  him  I  have  the  honor  of  speaking?" 


A  TRAP.  165 

"Yes." 

"If  that  is  the  case,  my  officer,  will  you  acquaint  your- 
self with  this  letter  which  I  have  been  charged  to  hand  to 
you?" 

"Tome?" 

"Certainly." 

"But  there  is  no  address." 

"It  does  not  matter;  break  the  seal  and  boldly  read;  the 
letter  is  indeed  for  you." 

Belle-Rose  tore  open  the  envelope.  At  the  first  words  he 
recognized  the  handwriting  of  the  Duchess  de  Chateaufort. 
The  note  only  contained  two  lines. 

"Follow  this  man  ;  I  must  see  you  on  an  affair  of  importance  which 
interests  me  and  which  interests  you.  Make  haste  ;  I  am  waiting  for 
you." 

Belle-Rose  looked  turn  by  turn  at  the  man  and  the  note. 
The  man  sustained  this  look  without  winking ;  as  to  the 
note,  its  laconic  character  surprised  the  young  officer ;  but 
this  brevity  even  persuaded  him  that  it  was  a  question  of 
Monsieur  d'Assonville's  child. 

"Is  the  person  who  handed  you  this  letter  still  in  the 
camp?"  asked  Belle-Rose. 

"No,"  boldly  replied  the  Lorraine. 

"How  long  has  it  been  since  you  spoke  to  her?" 

"Almost  an  hour  ago." 

"Then  you  know  where  to  find  her?" 

"I  do." 

Belle-Rose  called  Sergeant  Deroute  and  commanded  him 
to  get  ready  his  horse. 

"He  is  ready." 

"Go,  then,  and  bring  him." 

A  moment  after  Deroute  came  back,  leading  two  horses 
by  the  bridle. 

"Here  are  two  inseparable  animals, "  said  he ;  "where 
one  goes,  the  other  must  follow.  My  lieutenant  will  per- 
mit the  gray  to  accompany  the  black?" 

"Suit  yourself." 

Conrad  had  heard  the  whole  conversation.  At  these  last 
words,  he  drew  near. 

"The  person  who  expects  you,"  said  he  to  Belle-Rose, 
"has  strongly  insisted  on  my  bringing  you  alone." 

Deroute  brusquely  intervened. 

"My  friend,"  said  he  to  the  Lorraine,  "the  person  who 
sent  you  knows  that  my  horse  is  a  surprising  animal  for 
friendship,  If  he  was  left  behind,  he  would  break  his 


166  A  TKAP. 

head ;  it  is  a  murder  which  you  would  not  wish  to  have 
upon  your  conscience.     March;  we  follow." 

Conrad  reflected  that  a  longer  insistence  might  awaken 
suspicion ;  after  all,  it  was  only  two  men  against  ten,  and 
so  he  made  ready  to  leave. 

As  they  were  starting  out  Deroute  called  to  a  corporal 
who  was  passing  by  that  way. 

"Eh,  Grippard!"  he  said  to  him,  "come  sit  down  here 
and  guard  the  house.  If  Monsieur  de  Naucrais  or  any  one 
else  comes  to  ask  for  us,  assure  them  that  we  will  return 

promptly.     We  go Where  are   we  going?"  he  said, 

turning  in  the  direction  of  Conrad. 

"To  Morlanwelz,"  said  Conrad,  who  could  not  avoid 
answering  this  question. 

"You  have  heard?"  continued  Deroute,  addressing  him- 
self to  Grippard. 

"Perfectly." 

"Sit  down,  then,  and  watch  well." 

At  three  hundred  steps  from  the  camp  the  Lorraine 
mounted  his  horse,  which  he  had  left  at  a  farm-house,  and 
they  pushed  on  rapidly  in  the  direction  of  Morlanwelz. 
Belle-Kose  had  not  made  a  league  when  Madame  de 
Chateaufort,  riding  horseback,  appeared  before  the  lieu- 
tenant's tent.  She  was  clothed  in  a  dress  of  green  velvet 
which  set  off  wonderfully  her  elegant  and  supple  form ;  a 
gray  felt  hat,  ornamented  with  a  red  plume,  shaded  her 
face,  and  with  the  end  of  her  whip  she  provoked  a  superb 
white  mare  which  pranced  under  her  and  scattered  the 
foam  from  its  inflamed  nostrils.  Two  lackeys  on  horse- 
back followed  her ;  each  of  them  had  a  musket  hung  to  the 
saddle-bow. 

"Hey,  friend!"  said  she  to  Grippard,  "will  you  say  to 
Lieutenant  Belle-Kose  that  a  lady  is  here  who  desires  to 
speak  to  him?" 

"I  would  certainly  do  so,  madame,  if  the  lieutenant  had 
not  gone  away." 

"Gone  away,  did  you  say?" 

"Half  an  hour  ago." 

"Gone  away  without  saying  anything?" 

"A  man  came  early  this  morning,  handed  him  a  note, 
and  they  have  gone  away  together.  Sergeant  Deroute  has 
charged  me  to  answer  that  they  were  going  in  the  direc- 
tion of  Morlanwelz. ' ' 

"To  Morlanwelz?  but  there  are  Spaniards  in  that  direc- 
tion!" 

"Spaniards  and  Imperials,"  said  Grippard. 


A  TEAP.  167 

The  eyes  of  the  duchess  fell  upon  a  paper  folded  in  the 
form  of  a  letter  which  was  lying  on  the  ground ;  nimble  as 
a  bird,  she  leaped  to  the  ground  and  picked  up  the  paper. 
At  the  first  line  she  grew  pale. 

"This  is  the  note  which  was  handed  to  the  lieutenant?" 
said  she  to  Grippard,  in  a  trembling  voice. 

"I  think  so." 

"It  is  a  piece  of  treachery!"  said  she. 

At  this  moment  Cornelius  O'Brien,  Guillaume,  and 
Pierre  came  up  to  embrace  Belle-Kose. 

The  duchess  at  once  recognized  the  gentleman  whom 
she  had  met  in  the  antechamber  of  Monsieur  de  Louvois. 
She  ran  to  him. 

"Monsieur,"  she  said  to  him,  "do  you  recognize  me?" 

"The  Duchess  de  Chateaufort!"  exclaimed  Cornelius, 
bowing. 

"Well,  monsieur,  at  this  moment  Belle-Rose  is  being 
assassinated." 

At  this  cry,  old  Guillaume  rushed  toward  the  duchess. 

"What  did  you  say,  madame?"  he  exclaimed;  "I  am  his 
father." 

1  'I  say  that  we  must  save  him  if  he  is  living  or  avenge 
him  if  he  is  dead.  It  is  to  Morlanwelz  we  must  go ;  to 
horse,  to  horse,  and  follow  me!" 

The  duchess  took  a  pistol  from  Grippard 's  belt,  leaped 
upon  her  mare,  and  rode  away,  followed  by  the  two 
lackeys.  Cornelius,  Guillaume,  Pierre,  and  Grippard 
mounted  some  cavalry  horses  which  were  close  by,  and 
the  little  troop,  excited  by  its  guide,  crossed  the  barriers 
of  the  camp. 

Meanwhile  Belle-Rose  and  Deroute  were  following  the 
Lorraine,  who  urged  on  his  steed  without  saying  a  word. 
At  the  end  of  a  league,  Conrad  took  a  path  to  the  left 
which  cut  through  the  fields.  The  approach  of  war  had 
caused  the  inhabitants  to  decamp;  the  farms  were  devas- 
tated; not  a  peasant  was  to  be  seen  in  the  neighborhood. 

"Where  the  devil  are  you  taking  us?"  said  Deroute  to 
the  Lorraine. 

"It  is  an  interview  in  which  prudence  is  necessary.  The 
person  who  sends  me  would  be  in  despair  if  she  was  sus- 
pected," replied  Conrad. 

Deroute  was  silent,  but  he  assured  himself  that  his 
pistols  were  loose  in  their  holsters.  Those  which  Conrad 
concealed  in  his  pockets  were1  all  loaded.  They  kept  on  for 
half  an  hour  without  discovering  any  one.  Belle-Rose, 
absorbed  by  his  thoughts,  was  meditating  on  the  mission 


168  A  TRAP. 

•which  he  was  going  to  accomplish.  The  road  followed  by 
the  three  cavaliers  crossed  a  small  wooded  valley.  At  the 
extremity  of  the  valley  a  chateau  was  to  be  seen. 

"This  is  the  place,"  said  Conrad,  pointing  out  the 
chateau  with  his  finger. 

As  they  were  passing  along  a  copse  Deroute  heard  a 
noise  of  troubled  underbrush.  Conrad  quickly  turned  his 
head. 

"Some  boar  is  leaving  its  lair,"  he  smilingly  said. 

Deroute  slipped  his  right  hand  under  his  holsters,  seized 
the  butt-end  of  a  pistol,  and  leaning  toward  Belle-Kose, 
whispered  in  his  ear : 

"Take  care,  my  lieutenant;  we  are  in  the  enemy's 
country." 

Belle-Rose  paused  and  looked  quickly  around  him. 
All  at  once  the  hoofs  of  a  horse  were  heard  striking  a 
pebble. 

"Oh!  oh!"  said  Deroute,  "here  is  a  horse  whose  feet  are 
shod." 

The  Lorraine  suddenly  raised  his  hand  and  fired  a  pistol 
at  the  sergeant ;  but  the  sergeant  had  his  eye  upon  him ; 
throwing  himself  upon  the  horse's  neck,  he  answered  the 
Lorraine's  movement  by  a  similar  one,  and  the  two  shots 
were  fired  almost  at  the  same  time.  The  Lorraine's  ball 
passed  over  the  sergeant's  head. 

"Ah!  my  friend!"  exclaimed  Deroute,  returning  ball  for 
ball,  "you  are  too  awkward  for  the  trade  you  carry  on." 

The  sergeant's  shot  went  through  the  Lorraine's  arm 
and  struck  his  horse's  head.  The  wounded  animal  neighed 
with  pain,  reared  itself,  and  left  like  an  arrow.  At  the 
end  of  a  hundred  steps  it  entered  a  morass  whose  green 
water  was  covered  with  grass ;  at  the  first  bound  he  sank 
up  to  his  quarters  in  the  mire;  a  violent  dig  of  the  spur 
caused  him  to  rise ;  he  plunged  forward,  got  involved  in 
the  mud  and  rolled  over  in  the  water.  For  one  moment 
the  horse's  legs  were  seen  to  beat  the  surface  of  the 
morass  in  the  convulsions  of  agony ;  the  hands  of  Conrad 
were  stiffened  as  they  clung  to  the  saddle;  a  furious 
bound  brought  his  head  above  the  bed  of  grass  which  was 
stifling  him.  "Come  to  me!"  he  cried,  in  a  panting  voice; 
but  the  horse  sank  down,  and  the  Lorraine  disappeared 
under  the  water.  All  this  scene  had  transpired  in  a  min- 
ute; just  as  the  two  pistol-shots  were  fired,  a  troop  of 
cavaliers  appeared  upon  the  edge  of  the  wood.  At  their 
head  rode  Monsieur  de  Villebrais.  Deroute  looked  behind 
him ;  three  or  four  men  were  guarding  the  path ;  decidedly 


A  TRAP.  169 

Belle-Roes  and  he  were  cornered.  On  the  side  opposite  to 
the  wood  was  a  large  rock.  Belle-Rose  urged  on  his  horse 
toward  it,  and  sure  of  not  being  hemmed  in,  he  faced  the 
enemy.  Deroute  was  already  at  his  side,  sword  and  pistol 
in  hand.  Monsieur  de  Villebrais  rallied  his  troop  and  ad- 
vanced toward  the  rock.  There  were  a  dozen  cavaliers  be- 
hind him  ranged  in  a  semi-circle.  He  rode  slowly,  like  a 
man  who  only  fears  that  his  prey  may  escape  him. 

"Yesterday  it  was  your  turn;  to-day  it  is  mine,"  he 
cried  to  Belle-Rose;  "I  take  my  revenge." 

"You  steal  it!"  replied  Belle-Rose,  who  prepared  to  sell 
his  life  dearly. 

"Agreed!"  said  Monsieur  de  Villebrais;  "I  will  not 
cavil  about  terms.  I  have  it ;  the  rest  matters  little  to 
me." 

As  he  was  speaking,  there  was  heard  the  distant  noise 
of  a  gallop  rolling  like  thunder  over  the  path.  Belle-Rose 
and  Monsieur  de  Villebrais  looked  in  the  direction  from 
which  the  noise  came.  A  troop  of  cavaliers  was  coming 
up  at  headlong  speed,  guided  by  a  woman  riding  a  white 
horse.  Monsieur  de  Villebrais  recognized  Madame  de 
Chateaufort.  He  paled  and  drew  his  sword. 

"We  take  these,"  he  exclaimed,  pointing  out  Belle-Rose 
and  Deroute;  "you  take  those, "  he  said,  addressing  him- 
self to  a  scarred  soldier  who  appeared  to  be  the  lieutenant 
of  the  band,  "Burk;  gallop." 

Two-thirds  of  the  troop  followed  Burk,  who  rode,  saber 
in  hand,  toward  the  path.  The  rest  followed  Monsieur  de 
Villebrais.  But  Belle-Rose  and  Deroute  spared  him  three- 
fourths  of  the  way.  On  seeing  them  immovable  for  a  mo- 
ment at  sight  of  the  cavaliers  who  were  coming  at  fright- 
ful speed,  Deroute  had  leaned  toward  Belle-Rose. 

"Let  us  charge  these  rascals!"  he  said  to  him. 

Belle-Rose  and  Deroute  fell  like  a  thunderbolt  upon  the 
band  of  Monsieur  de  Villebrais  just  as  Burk's  troop  and 
that  of  Madame  de  Chateaufort  came  together.  The  shock 
was  terrible  on  both  sides.  Burk,  who  was  at  the  head, 
seized  Madame  de  Chateaufort  by  the  arm  as  she  was 
riding  toward  Belle-Rose. 

"Eh !"  said  he,  "eyes  like  diamonds  and  gold  around  the 
neck!  a  double  wind-fall!" 

"You  touched  me,  I  believe,"  said  Madame  de  Chateau- 
fort,  proudly. 

And  raising  her  pistol,  she  blew  out  the  soldier's  brains. 
It  was  the  signal  of  combat.  Twenty  detonations  followed 
it  and  the  swords  clashed.  At  the  first  discharge,  one  of 


170  A  SOUL  IN  PAIN. 

the  lackeys  was  killed  and  Cornelius  dismounted.  The 
superiority  of  numbers  was  on  the  side  of  the  assailants. 
Madame  de  Chateaufort  wrung  her  hands  in  despair. 
Upon  the  ground  where  Belle-Rose  was  fighting,  she  no 
longer  saw  anything  except  a  group  of  men  surrounded  by 
smoke  where  shone  the  glitter  of  swords.  Her  frightened 
eyes  were  turning  to  heaven,  when  at  the  turn  of  the 
wood  she  perceived  a  company  of  cavaliers  who  were  ap- 
proaching at  a  walk.  Genevieve  whipped  her  mare  and 
hastened  toward  them. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

A      6OUL      IN      PAIN. 

Those  who  rode  at  the  head  of  this  company  were  mag- 
nificently dressed.  In  a  second  Genevieve  was  before 
them.  She  was  quivering  with  anger  and  terror;  the 
blood  of  the  man  whom  she  had  killed  had  spurted  out 
upon  her  dress,  and  her  hand  still  held  the  smoking  pistol. 

"There  is  a  French  officer  here  who  is  being  assas- 
sinated, messieurs, "  she  said  to  them.  "Friends  or  ene- 
mies, if  you  are  gentlemen,  you  will  save  him." 

The  one  who  seemed  the  chief  of  the  band  made  a 
sign  of  the  hand,  an  officer  rode  away  at  a  gallop  with  the 
soldiers  of  the  escort,  and  Madame  de  Chateaufort  fol- 
lowed him.  It  was  time  for  this  reinforcement  to  inter- 
vene. Deroute  was  wounded  and  extended  on  the  ground, 
his  leg  under  his  horse.  Belle-Rose,  also  dismounted,  was 
defending  himself  with  the  stump  of  his  sword  whose 
blade  had  remained  in  the  body  of  a  cavalier;  his  clothes 
were  perforated  in  twenty  places  and  reddened  in  three  or 
four.  Of  the  two  lackeys,  one  was  dead  the  other  had  his 
head  split  open.  Cornelius  and  Pierre  were  struggling  in 
the  midst  of  three  or  four  bandits  infuriated  against  them. 
Old  Guillaume  was  lying  upon  a  soldier  whom  he  had 
killed  just  as  the  soldier  was  going  to  strike  Belle-Rose. 
Grippard  was  finishing  poniarding  a  Swiss  whom  he  had 
overcome.  Old  Guillaume  was  the  only  one  who  had  suc- 
ceeded in  breaking  through  the  troop  of  Burk.  The  father 
had  come  to  die  near  the  son.  The  officer's  hussars  sur- 
rounded the  combatants  and  forced  them  to  quit  fighting. 
All  were  bruised  and  Monsieur  de  Villebrais'  face  was 
covered  with  blood.  At  sight  of  the  officer  who  caused  the 
swords  to  be  returned  to  their  scabbards,  he  grew  pale 


A  SOUL  IN  PAIN.  171 

with  rage  and  threw  his  own  upon  the  blood-stained  grass. 
The  Duchess  do  Chateaufort  rushed  to  Belle-Rose. 

"Living,"  said  she,  "living,  my  God!" 

And  she  fell  upon  her  knees.  Prayer  half  parted  her 
lips,  and  tv>  o  great  tears  rolled  over  her  cheeks.  Belle- 
Rose  raised  her  in  his  arms  with  passionate  ardor. 

"So,"  said  he,  "you  will  always  save  me.  This  makes 
three  times  I  owe  my  life  to  you. ' ' 

Genevieve,  overwhelmed  by  so  many  terrible  emotions, 
leaned  her  head  upon  Belle-Rose's  shoulder  and  burst  into 
tears. 

"Oh,  my  God!"  said  she,  "I  would  like  to  die  thus." 

At  this  moment  the  Duke  of  Castel-Rodrigo — for  it  was 
he  whom  Genevieve  had  met — arrived  upon  the  scene  of 
combat. 

"Ah! 'tis  you,  monsieur?"  said  he,  addressing  himself 
to  Monsieur  de  Villebrais,  whom  he  recognized  in  spite  of 
the  disorder  of  his  clothes  and  the  blood  with  which  he 
was  covered. 

"Yes,"  said  Monsieur  de  Villebrais,  who  bit  his  lips 
with  anger. 

"Diable!  monsieur,  you  have  not  delayed  entering  on 
the  campaign,  from  what  I  see,"  said  the  duke,  in  a  tone 
of  scorn. 

"I  imagine,  monsieur  le  due,"  boldly  replied  the  traitor, 
"that  you  have  not  confided  these  brave  men  to  me  for 
leading  them  to  mass." 

The  Duke  of  Castel-Rodrigo  frowned. 

"Besides,"  added  Monsieur  de  Villebrais,  "it  is  sweet  to 
me  to  know  that  we  live  in  the  time  of  chivalry.  In  the 
future,  when  I  have  an  enemy  to  fight,  I  shall  take  great 
care  to  warn  him  of  the  time  and  the  place,  as  did  the 
valiant  knights  of  the  round  table." 

"Monsieur  well  knows  that  he  lies,"  coldly  said  an 
officer  belonging  to  the  suite  of  the  Duke  of  Castel- 
Rodrigo;  "he  is  not  ignorant  of  the  fact  that  in  the  time 
of  which  he  speaks  deserters  were  bastinadoed  and  traitors 
hung." 

This  officer,  who  possessed  an  austere  and  pensive 
countenance,  was  the  young  Prince  of  Orange — the  same 
who  was  to  be  one  day  William  II. ,  King  of  England. 

"Enough,  messieurs!"  exclaimed  the  duke;  "I  have 
given  Monsieur  de  Villebrais  permission  to  be  accom- 
panied by  ten  or  twelve  soldiers  everywhere  he  chose  to 
go ;  but  I  have  not,  that  I  know,  abdicated  my  rights  as 


172  A  SOUL  IN  PAIN. 

governor  of  the  province.  Your  role  is  finished,  monsieur, 
mine  begins.  Go!" 

Monsieur  de  Villebrais  slowly  withdrew.  In  passing  be- 
fore Madame  de  Chateaufort  and  Belle-Rose,  he  threw 
them  a  look  stamped  with  an  implacable  hatred,  rallied 
those  of  his  men  who  were  still  unwounded,  and  moved 
away. 

"Monsieur,"  said  the  duke  to  Belle-Rose,  "you  are  free; 
here  are  horses  for  yourself  and  your  friends ;  here  is  an 
escort  for  protecting  you.  There  are  no  longer  here  either 
Frenchmen  or  Spaniards;  there  are  only  gentlemen. " 

Belle-Rose  had  scarcely  thanked  the  duke,  when  a  feeble 
sigh  made  him  turn  his  head.  His  blood  had  congealed  in 
his  veins;  he  looked  everywhere  fearing  to  see.  A  dying 
man  half  extended  upon  a  dead  body  stretched  toward  him 
his  suppliant  arms. 

"My  father!"  exclaimed  Belle-Rose,  and  he  rushed 
toward  him. 

Cornelius  and  Pierre  were  kneeling  beside  the  falconer. 
A  deathly  pallor  had  effaced  from  their  countenances  the 
animation  of  combat. 

"I  have  lived  more  than  seventy  years,"  Guillaume  said 
to  them ;  "God  has  done  me  the  favor  to  let  me  die  like  a 
soldier;  do  not  weep." 

Belle-Rose  did  not  weep,  but  his  face  was  frightful  to 
behold ;  he  sustained  his  father's  head  in  his  hands  and 
kissed  his  white  hair. 

"It  is  for  me  that  you  are  dying,"  he  said.  "And 
Claudine  and  Pierre — but  you  should  have  let  me  be 
killed." 

His  trembling  fingers  parted  the  cloth  which  concealed 
the  wound ;  the  iron  had  entered  the  breast,  from  which 
came  a  small  stream  of  blood ;  the  wound  was  deep  and 
horrible.  Belle-Rose's  features  contracted;  the  elder 
smiled. 

"You  speak  to  me  of  Claudine  and  Pierre,"  he  said  to 
him;  "I  confide  them  to  you." 

At  this  moment  the  eyes  of  Belle-Rose  met  those  of 
Genevieve;  he  recollected  the  letter  which  he  had  re- 
ceived, the  cause  which  had  brought  him  to  Morlanwelz ; 
his  eyebrows  contracted,  and  he  threw  upon  the  poor 
woman  a  look  so  full  of  bitterness  that  she  concealed  her 
head  between  her  hands.  Meanwhile  Cornelius  had  a  litter 
hastily  constructed  with  branches  of  trees;  a  surgeon, 
who  accompanied  the  Duke  of  Castel-Rodrigo,  bandaged 
the  wound  of  old  Guillaume ;  two  soldiers  took  up  the 


A  SOUL  IN  PAIN.  173 

litter,  and  the  sad  procession  took  the  road  to  Charleroi. 
Deroute,  who  was  not  dangerously  hurt,  rode  his  horse 
passably  well.  Madame  de  Chateaufort  dried  her  eyes  red- 
dened by  tears  and  approached  Belle-Rose. 

"Jacques,"  she  said  to  him,  in  a  sweet  and  firm  voice, 
"I  have  a  favor  to  ask  of  you,  not  for  myself,  but  in  the 
name  of  the  child  whom  you  have  sworn  to  watch  over." 

At  this  recollection,  Belle-Rose  was  agitated. 

"Speak,  Genevieve,  I  am  listening  to  you;  but  make 
haste,  each  minute  is  precious." 

"I  must  see  you,  I  must  speak  to  you  again  on  the  sub- 
ject of  this  child.  Do  you  wish  it?"  fixing  a  suppliant  look 
upon  him  who  had  loved  her  so  much. 

"I  do,  "said  he. 

"Thanks,  Jacques.  To-morrow  I  will  inform  you  where 
we  shall  have  this  last  interview.  Now,  adieu." 

Madame  de  Chateaufort  turned  aside  her  head  to  con- 
ceal a  tear  which  trembled  on  the  border  of  her  eyelid, 
urged  on  her  mare  and  disappeared.  Some  hours  after  the 
encounter  in  the  valley,  the  funeral  cortege  entered  the 
camp  of  Charleroi.  Monsieur  de  Naucrais,  forewarned  by 
Grippard,  ran  to  the  falconer,  who  had  loved  and  protected 
his  childhood.  In  a  corner  of  the  tent,  Claudine  and  Pierre 
were  sobbing ;  Belle-Rose  was  despondent  but  firm ;  Cor- 
nelius went  from  Claudine  to  Belle-Rose,  mournful  and 
silent,  Guillaume  had  the  serenity  of  an  old  soldier  who 
had  always  lived  like  a  Christian.  He  was  dying  as  others 
go  to  sleep.  Guillaume  recognized  Monsieur  de  Naucrais 
as  soon  as  he  entered  and  pressed  his  head.  He  could  no 
longer  speak,  but  his  loyal  glance  had  still  the  brilliancy 
of  his  green  old  age.  While  he  was  retaining  Monsieur  de 
Naucrais,  he  made  a  sign  to  Belle-Rose  to  approach ;  his 
eyes  turned  then  to  the  son  of  Comte  d'Assonville  with  a 
disturbed  and  supplicating  expression. 

"I  am  his  brother,"  said  Monsieur  de  Naucrais,  touched 
by  this  mute  prayer. 

Guillaume  carried  Monsieur  de  Naucrais'  hand  to  his 
lips  with  so  much  effusion,  that  the  impassible  soldier 
turned  aside  his  head  to  conceal  his  emotion.  At  this  mo- 
ment a  corner  of  the  canvas  was  raised  and  gave  passage 
to  Monsieur  de  Luxembourg.  The  duke  approached  the 
bed  where  the  old  falconer  was  lying  and  gave  him  his 
hand. 

"Do  you  recognize  me,  Guillaume?"  he  said  to  him. 

Guillaume  looked  at  him  a  moment,  and  a  soft  smile 
was  seen  to  shine  in  his  eyes. 


174  A  SOUL  IN  PAIN. 

"You  have  succored  me  in  time  of  misfortune,"  said  the 
duke,  "and  I  have  remembered  it.  Belle-Rose  will  be  as  a 
son  to  me.  I  will  not  spare  him  dangers,  and  if  God  grants 
us  life,  he  will  go  further  than  he  has  ever  dreamed." 

The  falconer  carried  the  gentleman's  hand  to  his  lips. 
On  retiring,  the  duke  gave  Belle-Rose's  hand  a  cordial 
pressure. 

"Be  firm,"  he  said  to  him,  "a  father  is  still  left  you." 

The  almoner  of  the  battalion  arrived  during  the  night 
and  recited  the  prayer  of  the  dying.  Everybody  knelt 
down,  and  Guillaume,  with  hands  joined,  committed  his 
soul  to  Him  who  loves  and  pardons.  The  following  day, 
about  noon,  a  soldier  presented  himself  at  Belle-Rose's 
tent.  It  was  a  page  with  a  sly  and  determined  smile.  In 
spite  of  her  man's  clothes,  only  a  glance  was  necessary  for 
Belle-Rose  to  recognize  Camille,  Madame  de  Chateaufort's 
waiting-woman. 

"My  mistress  informs  you,"  said  she,  "that  she  expects 
you  this  evening,  if  you  have  an  hour  to  spare  her." 

"I  am  at  her  orders,"  replied  Belle-Rose. 

"If  that  is  the  case,  be  ready  this  evening  at  sunset." 

"I  will  be  ready.     "Where  must  I  go?" 

"Between  Marchienne  and  Laudely,  almost  two  leagues 
from  here.  But  do  not  trouble  yourself,  it  is  I  who  will 
serve  you  as  guide." 

"Till  this  evening,  then." 

Camille  turned  upon  her  heels  and  moved  away.  Mon- 
sieur de  Villebrais,  still  more  athirst  for  vengeance  since 
his  last  encounter  with  the  Duke  of  Castel-Rodrigo,  had 
scattered  his  men  and  some  others  whom  the  allurement 
of  gain  had  attached  to  his  fortune,  around  the  French 
lines,  recommending  to  them  the  strictest  surveillance. 
He  himself,  under  the  costume  of  a  market  gardener,  had 
ventured  even  as  far  as  the  advance  posts ;  and  he  went 
and  came  continually  along  the  paths  like  a  wolf  seeking 
its  prey.  About  five  o'clock,  as  he  was  standing  on  a 
slight  elevation,  he  perceived  Madame  de  Chateaufort  on 
horseback,  followed  by  a  single  lackey,  and  directing  her 
course  toward  the  barriers.  Monsieur  de  Villebrais  waited 
till  she  was  some  hundred  steps  from  the  camp,  and  leap- 
ing upon  a  horse  which  was  always  in  reach  of  his  hand, 
he  made  a  sign  to  one  of  the  men  to  follow  him  and 
launched  himself  in  pursuit  of  the  duchess,  taking  care, 
however,  to  keep  the  river  between  them  to  avoid  obser- 
vation. Madame  de  Chateaufort  followed  the  route  to 
Marchienne-au-Pont.  At  a  quarter  of  a  league  from  this 


A  SODL  IN  PAIN.  175 

town,  she  took  a  road  to  her  right,  gained  the  country 
around  Laudely,  and  stopped  at  a  hundred  steps  from  the 
banks  of  the  Sambre,  before  a  hunting  pavilion  whose 
door  was  opened  to  her  by  a  species  of  guard.  Monsieur 
de  Villebrais,  not  seeing  her  leave,  coasted  the  banks  of 
the  river,  found  a  ford,  urged  on  his  horse,  and  traversed 
the  Sambre.  After  having  hitched  his  horse  to  the  trunk 
of  an  old  willow,  he  softly  directed  his  course  toward  the 
pavilion,  made  the  tour  of  it,  and  when  he  had  recognized 
those  within,  he  again  took  up  the  route  to  Charleroi, 
leaving  his  acolyte  as  a  sentinel  in  the  underwood.  At 
sunset  Monsieur  de  Villebrais  had  gathered  together  four 
or  five  of  his  men,  and  had  given  them  a  rendezvous  at 
Laudely.  Each  of  his  followers  was  to  go  there  alone.  As 
to  himself,  he  lay  down  in  a  ditch  on  the  border  of  the 
road  where  Madame  de  Chateaufort  had  followed  and 
waited.  Meanwhile,  at  the  hour  agreed  upon,  Belle- Rose 
saw  Camille  advancing.  She  was  riding  a  beautiful  Span- 
ish genet. 

"Are  you  ready?"  the  false  page  said  to  him. 

Belle-Rose's  sole  reply  was  to  leap  upon  a  horse  which 
Grippard  was  holding  by  the  bridle.  Both  of  them  set  out. 
They  had  not  made  a  quarter  of  a  league  when  they  heard 
a  cavalier  flying  at  headlong  speed  over  the  route.  Belle- 
Rose  turned  back,  and,  in  the  semi-obscurity,  he  recog- 
nized his  brother  who  was  only  a  moment  reaching  him. 
Belle-Rose  gave  him  his  hand,  and  all  three,  leaning  over 
the  croup  of  their  horses,  passed  like  phantoms.  Monsieur 
de  Villebrais  arose,  and  a  bitter  smile  lit  up  his  counten- 
ance. 

"If  Madame  de  Chateaufort  delivers  him  to  me, "  said 
he,  "I  can  well  afford  to  pardon  her." 

At  the  end  of  an  hour  he  saw,  among  the  trees  on  the 
other  side  of  the  Sambre,  a  trembling  light.  Monsieur  de 
Villebrais  applied  the  whip  to  his  horse,  and  leaning  over 
his  horse's  mane,  he  began  to  search  for  the  ford.  He 
thought  he  recognized  a  stone  which  he  had  remarked 
during  the  evening,  and  he  boldly  threw  himself  into  the 
water. 

Meanwhile  Camille  and  Belle-Rose  reached  the  pavilion 
of  Laudely.  The  guard  introduced  them  into  an  ante- 
chamber, where  Camille  stopped.  Belle-Rose  penetrated  a 
second  room,  in  which  Madame  de  Chateaufort  was  wait- 
ing for  for  him.  Pierre  had  seated  himself  at  the  door  of 
the  pavilion.  Genevieve  welcomed  Belle-Rose  with  a  sad 
smile. 


176  A  SOUL  IN  PAIN. 

"I  have  made  this  appointment, "  she  said  to  him,  "to 
speak  to  you  of  a  child  -who  no  longer  has  a  father  and 
whom  its  mother  wishes  to  confide  to  you." 

"In  communicating  to  you  the  mission  which  Monsieur 
d'Assonville  has  charged  me,"  said  Belle-Rose,  "I  have 
never  pretended  to  deprive  you  of  the  right  to  see  and 
emhrace  your  son.  Can  we  not  together  watch  over  him?" 

Madame  de  Chateaufort  shook  her  head. 

"Yesterday  such  a  proposition  would  have  delighted 
me;  but  to-day " 

The  voice  of  Madame  de  Chateaufort  was  so  deeply  de- 
spondent that  Belle-Rose  took  her  hand. 

"  Gene  vie  ve,"  he  said  to  her,  "forget  that  you  are  a 
woman  by  recollecting  that  you  are  a  mother." 

"I  can  forget  nothing,"  said  she.  "You  wish  us  to 
watch  together  over  this  child.  Alas !  can  we?  When  you 
see  him  smiling  between  us,  what  kind  of  a  look  will  you 
have  for  the  mother?  Stay,  Jacques,  yesterday  I  under- 
stood everything.  Misfortune  pursues  me !  When  Monsieur 
d'Assonville  died,  I  was  there!  When  your  father's  blood 
flowed,  I  was  there !  The  reproach  to  me  in  your  looks 
was  also  in  your  heart,  and  now,  whatever  you  do,  the 
idea  of  murder  will  always  abide  in  my  memory !  Between 
you  and  me  there  are  too  many  misfortunes ;  there  is  your 
father,  there  is  Gaston!" 

Belle-Rose  lowered  his  head.  Each  word  of  Genevieve 
was  an  arrow  in  his  heart. 

"You  are  silent,  Jacques,"  said  she,  "and  I  no  longer 
pity  myself.  You  have  pardoned  me. " 

As  this  last  word  fell  from  her  lips  a  terrible  cry  rent- 
the  air.  Both  of  them  trembled ;  but  this  nameless  cry  hacf 
traversed  space  like  a  bullet;  everything  had  again  become 
calm  and  silent.  By  an  instinctive  movement,  Genevieve 
had  drawn  near  Belle-Rose. 

"Jacques,"  she  said  to  him,  taking  one  of  his  hands  be- 
tween hers,  "tell  me  at  least  that  you  will  teach  my  son  to 
love  me?  When  he  sees  me  he  smiles  at  me ;  he  has  divine 
caresses  for  my  lips ;  he  extends  over  my  faults  his  inno- 
cence like  a  cloak ;  his  little  hands  cling  to  my  neck,  and, 
when  he  calls  me,  it  seems  to  me  that  the  benediction  of 
God  descends  upon  me." 

Genevieve  wept,  her  face  bowed  over  Belle-Rose's  hand. 

"He  will  love  you !  he  will  love  you !  how  could  Gaston's 
son  fail  to  love  you?"  exclaimed  Belle-Rose,  beside  him- 
self. 

Another  cry  more  horrible  still  resounded.     It  was  a 


A  CITY  WON.  177 

funereal  cry  which  did  not  seem  to  belong  to  earth ;  it 
grated  upon  the  ear  and  chilled  the  heart ;  the  depths  of 
space  swallowed  it  up,  and  there  was  no  longer  anything 
to  be  heard  except  the  soft  murmur  of  the  foliage  shaken 
by  the  wind.  The  frightened  Genevieve  knelt  down. 

"My  God!"  said  she,  "is  it  Gaston's  soul  calling  me?" 

Belle-Rose  felt  a  death-like  shiver  run  to  the  roots  of  his 
hair,  which  was  moistened  by  a  cold  sweat.  He  rushed  to 
the  window  and  opened  it.  The  serene  night  enveloped 
the  country  in  its  transparent  obscurity ;  the  breeze  sang 
between  the  flowery  branches  of  the  hawthorns,  and  in  the 
shadow  of  a  hedge  an  amorous  song-bird  was  to  be  heard 
chattering  upon  its  nest.  An  invincible  terror  kept  Gene- 
vieve kneeling  upon  the  floor;  she  had  the  pallor  of 
marble,  her  head  thrown  back  seemed  to  still  be  drinking 
in  the  horror  of  this  cry,  and  her  hands  twisted  the  thick 
curls  of  her  floating  hair.  Belle-Rose  sounded  with  his 
eyes  the  profundity  of  the  night ;  his  hand  had  strayed  to 
the  guard  of  his  sword,  and  this  soldier  who  knew  not  fear 
waited  mute  and  shivering.  Another  cry,  a  lugubrious 
cry,  suddenly  burst  forth  and  was  prolonged  under  the 
starry  sky ;  it  was  at  once  a  heart-rending  complaint  and 
a  formidable  menace,  a  cry  which  congealed  the  blood. 
Madame  de  Chateaufort,  mad  with  fright,  bounded  to  the 
knees  of  Belle-Rose  and  clung  to  them.  All  at  once  the 
door  was  violently  opened,  and  Pierre  rushed  into  the 
room,  his  naked  sword  in  his  hand ;  Camille  followed  close 
behind  him. 

"Do  you  hear,  brother?"  said,  in  a  low  tone,  the  pale 
young  man;  "do  you  hear?" 

Belle-Rose  disengaged  himself  from  Madame  de  Chateau- 
fort's  embrace  and  drew  his  sword. 

"Come,  brother!"  said  he,  and  both  of  them  hurriedly 
left  the  pavilion. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

A  CITY  WON. 

Madame  de  Chateaufort  followed  Belle-Rose  and  Pierre. 
In  the  state  of  mortal  fright  in  which  her  soul  was 
plunged,  what  she  dreaded  before  everything  was  to  re- 
main alone.  The  landscape  was  calm  and  peaceful.  The 
fields,  bathed  in  a  blonde  light,  were  lost  in  a  placid  and 
misty  horizon  where  shone  above  some  sparks  immovable 


178  A  CITY  WON. 

as  stars.  At  a  hundred  steps  from  the  pavilion,  the  Sambre 
flowed  like  a  stream  of  liquid  silver,  and  nothing  was  to 
be  heard  but  the  soft  noise  of  the  water  laving  the  foot  of 
the  willows.  It  seemed  to  the  two  brothers  that  the  cries 
had  come  from  the  direction  of  the  river.  They  were  ad- 
vancing then  in  that  direction,  when  a  hoarse  and  breath- 
less cry  passed  above  their  heads  and  caused  Madame  de 
Chateauf  ort  to  bend  like  a  tree  beaten  by  the  wind.  A 
lugubrious  silence  followed  it.  Belle-Rose  straightened 
himself  up. 

"It  is  the  cry  of  a  drowning  man,"  said  he,  and  he 
rushed  toward  the  bank  of  the  river. 

Pierre  reached  the  sand  as  quickly  as  he,  and  both  of 
them  searched  along  the  river. 

They  had  not  made  fifty  steps  when  they  perceived, 
near  an  old  willow,  a  black  body  floating  softly  with  the 
current  of  the  water.  There  were  moments  when  this  body 
came  to  the  surface,  and  others  when  it  disappeared  under 
the  branches  of  the  willow. 

"Behold  him?"  said  Pierre;  "his  hands  are  clasped 
around  a  branch. " 

It  was  in  truth  the  dead  body  of  a  man  clinging  to  the 
tree.  Belle-Rose  advanced  to  the  trunk  of  the  willow, 
while  Pierre  entered  the  stream ;  leaning  over  the  dead 
body,  they  drew  it  from  the  water;  but  the  inflexible 
fingers  were  glued  to  the  branch,  and  it  was  necessary  to 
cut  it  in  order  to  push  the  body  to  the  shore.  Madame  de 
Chateauf  ort  was  waiting  on  the  bank  of  the  Sambre ;  when 
the  wet  corpse  was  stretched  out  upon  the  grass,  in  the 
peaceable  rays  of  the  moon,  she  was  the  first  to  recognize 
it. 

"Monsieur  de  Villebrais!"  said  she. 

Belle-Rose  threw  himself  on  his  knees  near  the  dead 
man ;  it  was  indeed  he ;  the  face  was  livid,  and  his  eyes 
seemed  projecting  from  their  sockets.  The  young  officer 
let  fall  the  head  which  he  had  raised  for  a  moment. 

"The  heart  no  longer  beats,"  said  he.  "May  God  have 
mercy  upon  his  soul. " 

Monsieur  de  Villebrais,  trusting  to  pass  the  Sambre  at 
the  ford,  had  been  deceived ;  his  horse,  which  had  at  first 
only  sank  up  to  its  sides  in  the  water,  suddenly  lost  foot- 
ing ;  Monsieur  de  Villebrais  wished  to  bring  it  back,  but 
the  current  was  strong  and  rapid  at  this  place ;  the  officer 
abandoned  the  animal  and  attempted  to  save  himself  by 
swimming.  Perhaps  he  would  have  succeeded  had  not  the 
horse  in  its  struggles  struck  him  in  the  head  with  its  foot, 


A  CITY  WON.  179 

which  caused  him  to  lose  half  his  strength.  It  was  then 
that  the  swimmer  uttered  his  first  and  formidable  cry. 
Monsieur  de  Villebrais  struggled  against  the  current  with 
the  energy  of  despair ;  his  head  at  times  sank  under  the 
surface,  his  mouth  filled  with  water,  but  when  he  had 
enough  strength  to  do  so  he  uttered  one  of  those  awful 
cries  which  chilled  Madame  de  Chateaufort  with  affright. 
A  last  effort  brought  him  to  the  old  willow  undermined  by 
the  river,  his  fingers  fastened  themselves  to  a  branch  like 
iron  bands,  and  he  wished  to  raise  himself  up  to  the  trunk ; 
but  the  branch  gave  way,  a  cry  of  horror  burst  from  his 
blanched  lips,  and  his  face  disappeared  under  the  waves. 

When  Belle-Rose  had  assured  himself  that  Monsieur  de 
Villebrais  was  dead,  he  called  the  guard  and  confided  to 
him  the  body  of  the  drowned  man ;  then  he  set  out  with 
Madame  de  Chateaufort  and  Pierre  for  the  pavilion.  At 
this  moment  the  rapid  galloping  of  three  or  four  horses 
was  heard  in  the  distance ;  they  were  Monsieur  de  Ville- 
brais' men,  who,  seeing  themselves  deprived  of  their  chief, 
were  regaining  their  quarters.  Madame  de  Chateaufort 
found  herself  a  moment  after  alone  with  Belle-Rose.  The 
unexpected  and  terrible  death  of  Monsieur  de  Villebrais 
had  increased  the  profound  sadness  and  bitter  discourage- 
ment with  which  she  had  felt  herself  struck.  Desolation 
was  in  her  soul;  she  had  seen  Monsieur  d'Assonville's 
agony ;  she  had  just  seen  the  dead  body  of  Monsieur  de 
Villebrais ;  she  saw  before  her  Belle-Rose,  pale  and  mourn- 
ful, grieving  in  his  heart  for  his  father's  death.  She 
understood  that  the  hour  of  separation  had  come,  and  call- 
ing to  her  aid  all  the  strength  which  was  left  her,  she  drew 
from  her  pocket  a  small  sealed  package. 

"Here,"  said  she  to  Belle-Rose,  "are  the  papers  which 
settle  the  annuity  of  Monsieur  d'Assonville's  son ;  when  he 
shall  be  of  an  age  to  choose  a  career,  he  can  do  it  like  a 
gentleman.  To  these  papers  I  have  added  a  letter  which 
gives  to  you  every  right  over  him. " 

"But  you,  Genevieve?"  said  Belle-Rose. 

"I  shall  embrace  him — it  is  the  only  favor  which  I  ask  of 
you." 

Having  said  this,  Madame  de  Chateaufort  arose.  All 
hope  was  banished  from  her  heart.  She  approached  Belle- 
Rose  and  extended  her  hand.  Belle-Rose,  without  making 
any  reply,  took  it  between  his. 

"So,"  she  resumed,  "I  shall  be  your  friend,  nothing 
more,  nothing  less — an  absent  friend,  of  whom  you  will 
sometimes  think  without  bitterness?" 


180  A  CITY  WON. 

"A  friend  whose  name  I  shall  cause  to  be  blessed  by  the 
lips  of  a  child,"  replied  Belle-Rose. 

Genevieve's  countenance  shone  with  a  pure  joy. 

"That  is  a  sentiment  which  I  shall  carry  away  in  my 
heart,"  said  she,  "and  which  will  console  me  when  I  am 
alone.  Adieu,  my  friend ;  may  you  find  some  day  the  hap- 
piness which  I  should  have  wished  to  give  you!  It  is  a 
new  life  which  I  am  beginning,  and  I  begin  it  with  repent- 
ance." 

Belle-Rose  held  Geneyieve  to  his  heart  for  some  minutes, 
then  feeling  himself  being  overcome  by  tears,  he  snatched 
himself  from  her  arms  and  rushed  out  of  the  apartment. 
A  moment  later  he  was  riding  toward  Charleroi,  accom- 
panied by  Pierre. 

Two  days  after  this  occurrence  the  camp  was  raised,  and 
on  June  4th  the  army  set  siege  to  Tournay.  Claudine  and 
Suzanne  had  remained  at  Charleroi,  Monsieur  d'Albergotti 
liaving  just  fallen  sick.  His  great  age,  the  fatigues  of  war, 
his  wounds,  all  inspired  grave  inquietude  concerning  his 
condition.  In  the  midst  of  a  city  filled  with  soldiers  it  was 
to  be  feared  that  the  old  officer  might  not  receive  all  the 
care  which  his  situation  called  for :  it  was  decided  that  he 
should  be  taken  to  Paris  by  easy  stages ;  there  at  least  he 
would  have  all  the  aid  that  science  could  give  him. 
Madame  de  Chateaufort  withdrew  to  the  city  of  Arras, 
where  since  his  disgrace  the  duke  had  received  orders  to 
reside,  the  husband  having  asked  his  wife  to  aid  him  by 
her  presence  at  the  time  of  the  official  receptions  and 
entertainments.  Pierre,  attached  to  the  company  in  which 
Belle-Rose  served,  had  followed  the  army  to  Tournay.  The 
operations  of  the  siege  were  actively  begun  and  the  place 
was  invested  on  the  same  day.  The  efforts  of  the  artillery 
were  turned  against  a  fort  which  commanded  the  place  on 
the  south  side.  The  besieged  answered  by  a  well  main- 
tained fire  the  attacks  of  the  French  Army,  and  sought  to 
trouble  its  operations  by  frequent  sorties.  But  the  presence 
of  the  king  increased  the  ardor  of  the  troops,  and  the  time 
was  not  far  distant  when  the  city  would  be  forced  to 
sound  a  parley.  To  hasten  this  moment,  it  was  determined 
to  undermine  a  bastion,  the  fall  of  which,  by  opening  the 
rampart,  would  constrain  the  Governor  of  Tournay  to  come 
to  terms.  It  was  an  expedition  in  which  there  were  great 
dangers  to  run,  and  which  called  for  determined  men. 
Belle-Rose,  who  was  seeking  an  occasion  to  distinguish 
himself,  readily  volunteered. 

"It  is  well,"  Monsieur  de  Naucrais  said  to  him;  "choose 


A  CITY  WON.  181 

your  men,  and  if  you  succeed,  you  will  be  a  cap- 
tain." 

Toward  nightfall  Belle-Rose,  accompanied  by  Deroute, 
Pierre,  and  four  or  five  sappers,  left  the  sunken  road  and 
approached  the  ditches  by  crawling  over  the  ground.  The 
first  sentinels  who  perceived  him  fired  upon  him ;  without 
giving  them  time  to  reload  their  guns,  he  started  running 
toward  the  ditch,  into  which  he  let  himself  fall.  Belle- 
Rose  had  provided  himself  with  a  sackful  of  tow  which  he 
had  topped  with  a  hat.  Just  as  the  Spaniards  extended 
their  guns  above  the  rampart  he  threw  this  species  of 
manikin  into  the  ditch.  It  was  already  dark,  and  all  the 
soldiers  being  deceived,  they  fired  at  it,  with  two  or  three 
exceptions.  Belle-Rose  jumped  up  at  once ;  those  who  had 
not  fired  did  so  now,  but  the  lieutenant  had  already 
reached  the  other  side  and  had  lodged  himself  behind  a 
pile  of  rubbish  without  other  accident  than  a  ball  lost  in 
his  clothes.  Belle-Rose's  men,  stretched  out  in  the  depres- 
sions in  the  ground,  were  waiting  for  his  signal  to  descend. 
As  to  Belle-Rose  himself,  sure  of  not  being  disturbed,  he 
immediately  began  the  sapping  of  the  rampart  and  worked 
with  such  ardor  that  in  less  than  two  hours  he  had  con- 
trived an  excavation  which  two  men  could  occupy.  The 
Spaniards  kept  on  firing  at  him,  but  the  balls  flattened 
themselves  against  the  stone  or  rebounded  behind  him ; 
three  or  four  among  them  had  attempted  to  join  the  miner 
by  passing  over  the  rampart ;  but  Pierre  and  Deroute  had 
killed  the  two  first;  another,  struck  in  the  thigh,  had 
fallen  into  the  ditch,  where  he  had  broken  his  back ;  the 
fourth  had  been  shot  by  Belle-Rose  himself  just  as  he  was 
setting  foot  upon  the  soil.  After  these  attempts,  so  badly 
terminated,  the  Spaniards  prudently  remained  behind  the 
wall.  Belle-Rose  whistled  softly.  At  this  signal,  which 
had  been  agreed  upon  in  advance,  Deroute  and  Pierre  ran 
to  the  border  of  the  ditch.  The  one  stopped  the  other. 

"Eh,  friend,  I  am  the  sergeant!"  said  Deroute. 

"Eh,  comrade,  I  am  his  brother,"  replied  Pierre,  and  he 
leaped  into  the  ditch. 

Pierre  joined  Belle-Rose  in  the  midst  of  the  musket- 
shots.  A  ball  scratched  him  close  to  the  eyebrows.  A  half 
an  inch  deeper,  and  he  would  have  been  killed. 

"Eh,  brother,  they  have  baptized  you,"  said  Belle-Rose 
on  seeing  the  blood  upon  the  forehead  of  the  young  soldier. 

Both  set  to  work  and  pushed  the  task  so  vigorously  that 
it  was  soon  necessary  to  give  a  second  whistle.  This  time 
it  was  Deroute  who  presented  himself.  The  besieged  threw 


182  A  CITY  WON. 

fire-pots  into  the  ditch ;  but  the  sergeant,  nimble  as  a  cat, 
had  already  disappeared  under  the  sap.  The  whistles 
rapidly  succeeded  each  other ;  the  wall  was  pierced ;  the 
miners  were  still  at  their  post,  with  the  exception  of  one 
who  had  been  killed  by  a  shell  bursting.  This  accident 
had  influenced  Deroute  to  raise  behind  the  sap  a  bank  of 
earth  which  would  shelter  them. 

"Here  we  are  like  moles,"  said  he,  with  that  tranquil 
air  which  never  abandoned  him ;  "let  us  dig. " 

Toward  morning  they  heard  a  hollow  noise  like  that  of  a 
subterranean  work  going  on.  Belle-Bose  made  everybody 
stop  and  glued  his  ear  to  the  sides  of  the  mine. 

"Very  well,"  said  he;  "there  is  sapping  going  on  in 
front." 

"Mine  and  counter-mine!"  said  Deroute;  "let  us  dig." 

They  dug  so  well  that  toward  noon  they  heard  very  dis- 
tinctly the  blows  of  the  pick  striking  the  earth.  On  both 
sides  the  work  was  being  carried  on  with  equal  ardor. 

"Quick,  my  boys!"  said  the  sergeant;  "after  the  shovel 
it  will  be  the  turn  of  the  pistol. " 

At  the  end  of  an  hour  Belle-Rose  recognized  by  the 
sound  of  the  blows  that  they  were  no  longer  separated  ex- 
cept by  two  feet  of  earth. 

"Lay  down,  all!"  said  he,  extending  his  hand  toward  his 
miners. 

"Eh,  my  lieutenant,  all,  except  me!"  exclaimed  Deroute. 

"You  first!"  said  the  officer,  with  an  air  which  suffered 
no  reply. 

Deroute  obeyed ;  but  while  Pierre  lay  down  to  the  right 
of  Belle-Rose,  the  sergeant  placed  himself  on  the  left. 

"Now,  comrades,  put  aside  the  tools  and  make  ready 
the  guns !  With  a  blow  of  the  pick  I  am  going  to  throw 
down  this  piece  of  wall ;  as  soon  as  the  Spaniards  see  us 
they  will  fire." 

"That  is  to  say  you  will  take  all, "  murmured  Deroute, 
with  a  jealous  air. 

"Yes,  all  or  nothing,"  replied  Belle-Rose,  smiling,  and 
he  continued:  "You  shall  only  rise  after  they  have  fired; 
but  then  rise  all  together  and  leap  upon  them.  Attention 
now." 

Belle-Rose  took  a  pick  in  both  hands  and  struck.  At  the 
third  strike  the  earth  gave  away,  a  large  breach  was 
opened,  and  the  Spaniards  were  to  be  seen  aiming  their 
muskets. 

"Fire!"  cried  the  officer  who  commanded  them. 

But  at  the  officer's  cry  Bell-Rose  had  thrown  himself  flat 


A  CITY  WON.  183 

on  his  stomach ;  the  discharge  passed  over  his  head.  In 
the  midst  of  the  dusk  and  the  obscurity  the  enemy  had 
seen  nothing. 

"Stand  up!"  exclaimed  Belle-Rose,  in  a  voice  of  thunder, 
and  he  rushed  forward,  followed  close  by  his  brother  and 
Deroute. 

The  Spaniards,  surprised,  were  killed  upon  the  spot  or 
disarmed.  There  were  ten  of  them  in  the  vault.  At  the 
first  fire  only  three  were  left  standing.  Belle-Rose  hastened 
to  wall  up  the  opening  with  stones  and  rubbish ;  he  at- 
tached the  petard,  unrolled  the  match,  and  ordered  Deroute 
to  bring  back  his  little  troop.  When  it  had  repassed  the 
ditch,  Belle-Rose  set  fire  to  the  match  and  moved  away, 
but  not  before  having  seen  the  sulphur  and  powder 
sparkle.  Deroute  was  upon  the  side  of  the  ditch,  going 
and  coming  regardless  of  the  shots  fired  at  him  from  the 
rampart  by  those  leaving  it. 

"Eh,"  he  cried  to  Belle-Rose,  as  soon  as  he  saw  him, 
"can't  you  walk  faster?" 

"And  you,"  replied  Belle-Rose,  "can't  you  stay  farther 
away?" 

Both  moved  away  rapidly,  but  at  the  end  of  a  hundred 
steps  Belle-Rose  felt  the  soil  tremble  under  their  feet. 

"Down!"  he  cried  to  Deroute,  and  seizing  him  by  the 
arm,  he  forced  him  to  lie  down  near  him  in  a  depression 
in  the  ground. 

A  frightful  detonation  resounded  immediately ;  a  cloud 
of  powder-smoke  obscured  the  air,  and  a  thousand  frag- 
ments of  stone  fell  around  them.  When  they  stood  up 
ninety  feet  of  wall  was  stretched  flat;  the  ditch  was 
filled  by  the  debris  and  a  large  breach  was  opened  in 
the  side  of  the  bastion.  The  garrison  had  decamped.  A 
corps  of  soldiers  whom  Monsieur  de  Naucrais  was  holding 
in  reserve  rushed  forward  as  soon  as  the  mine  had  ex- 
ploded, and  installed  themselves  in  the  fort  without 
striking  a  blow.  Monsieur  de  Luxembourg  rode  toward 
the  scene  of  action,  followed  by  his  officers.  As  he  was 
passing  along  he  met  Belle-Rose  running  toward  the  ram- 
part, his  clothes  in  disorder,  and  covered  with  powder. 

"Ah!  it  is  you,  Grinedal?"  said  Monsieur  de  Luxem- 
bourg; "stop  a  second  to  tell  me  the  name  of  the  soldier 
who  set  fire  to  the  match. ' ' 

"Eh!"  exclaimed  Deroute,  "this  soldier  is  an  officer." 

"Ah!" 

"And  this  officer  is  my  lieutenant." 


184  A  CITY  WON. 

Monsieur  de  Luxembourg  extended  his  hand  to  Belle- 
Kose. 

"These  are  actions  which  dp  not  astonish  me,  coming 
from  you;  I  will  speak  of  it  this  evening  to  His  Majesty, " 
he  said  to  him. 

The  Governor  of  Tournay,  seeing  the  city  dismantled, 
sent  a  flag  of  truce  to  the  camp;  the  capitulation  was 
signed,  and  the  city  opened  its  gates.  This  first  success 
excited  the  joy  of  the  army,  which  spoke  of  nothing  less 
than  going  straight  on  to  Brussels.  Toward  evening,  and 
as  the  city  was  filled  with  songs,  an  order  informed  Belle- 
Kose  that  Monsieur  de  Luxembourg  was  expecting  him  in 
his  quarters.  The  young  officer  went  there  and  found  the 
general  in  his  tent  expediting  various  orders. 

"Grinedal, "  he  said  to  him,  when  they  were  alone,  "His 
Majesty,  to  whom  I  have  given  an  account  of  your  excel- 
lent conduct,  has  permitted  me  to  promise  you  the  grade  of 
captain.  Your  commission  is  ready  for  signature. ' ' 

Belle-Rose  thanked  his  generous  protector  and  regretted 
that  his  father  was  not  alive  to  rejoice  over  his  good 
fortune. 

"But,"  said  Monsieur  de  Luxembourg,  "it  is  not  the 
general  who  speaks  to  you — it  is  the  friend.  The  friend, 
Jacques,  has  once  again  need  of  your  services  and  your 
devotion." 

"Speak,  and  when  you  have  told  me  what  I  must  do,  I 
will  thank  you  for  having  chosen  me. ' ' 

"A  man  in  whom  I  had  placed  every  confidence,"  con- 
tinued the  general,  "has  just  betrayed  me.  Perhaps  you 
recollect  him  through  having  spoken  to  him  at  Witternesse 
ten  years  ago?" 

"Bergame!"  exclaimed  Belle-Rose. 

"Yes.  He  is  about  to  sell  for  the  sum  of  a  hundred  thou- 
sand livres  some  papers  which  he  has  in  his  hands,  and 
which  I  had  left  with  him,  believing  in  his  honesty.  If  these 
papers  compromised  only  myself  and  the  Prince  de  Conde, 
I  would  hardly  disturb  myself  about  them.  The  king,  in 
his  sovereign  mercy,  has  wished  to  forget  everything.  But 
they  might  injure  people  who  have  not  been  suspected ; 
nay,  more,  they  might  ruin  them,  if  these  papers  fall  into 
the  hands  of  Monsieur  de  Louvois." 

"What  must  be  done." 

"You  must  leave  for  Paris." 

"Quit  the  army !"  exclaimed  Belle-Rose. 

"You  will  lose  fifteen  days  which  you  will  make  up  for 
in  a  week,"  replied  Monsieur  de  Luxembourg,  growing 


A  DIPLOMATIC  MISSION.  185 

animated  as  lie  spoke.     "And  besides,  there  is  no  one  else 
that  I  know  to  whom  I  can  confide  this  mission. ' ' 

"I  shall  go." 

"You  will  stop  at  Chantilly,  where  the  prince's  inten- 
dant  will  hand  you  a  hundred  thousand  livres  on  the 
presentation  of  this  order.  You  will  afterward  go  to  see 
Bergame,  who  lives  in  the  direction  of  Palaiseau,  in  a  house 
which  I  have  given  him." 

"Ah!"  said  Belle-Rose,  with  disgust. 

"The  house  is  to  the  right  at  a  hundred  steps  from  the 
road,  before  entering  the  village.  Anybody  you  meet  can 
point  it  out  to  you.  Bergame  does  not  yet  suspect  that  I 
am  acquainted  with  his  perfidy.  All  the  papers  are  at  his 
home,  in  a  certain  closet  which  I  know  well,  and  in  which 
I  have  concealed  myself  more  than  once  in  the  time  of  the 
Fronde.  A  man  who  is  employed  by  Monsieur  de  Louvois 
nas  learned  of  this  bargain,  he  has  recollected  that  he  owed 
me  everything,  and  has  warned  me. ' ' 

"Those  are  the  papers  you  wish. " 

"By  cunning  or  main  force — it  matters  not  which — you 
must  get  possession  of  them. ' ' 

"Oh!  he  is  an  old  man!"  said  Belle-Rose. 

"Eh,  morbleu!"  exclaimed  Monsieur  de  Luxembourg, 
"the  old  wolves  have  the  longest  teeth.  Besides,  it  is  not  a 
question  of  killing  him ;  you  pay  the  price  of  the  treason 
and  take  the  papers.  Do  you  know  that  it  concerns  the 
lives  of  twenty  persons?" 

"It  is  well !    I  will  have  these  papers. " 

"Then  you  leave  to-morrow." 
^"1  will  leave  to-night." 

"Go,  and  may  God  guide  you!  A  first  time  you  have 
perhaps  saved  my  life,  a  second  time  you  save  my  honor. 
What  can  I  do  for  you,  Grinedal?" 

"You  will  let  me  participate  in  a  battle." 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

A    DIPLOMATIC    MISSION. 

An  hour  after  this  conversation  Belle-Rose  left,  accom- 
panied by  Deroute.  Monsieur  de  Naucrais  had  taken  Pierre 
under  his  charge  and  proposed  to  push  his  military  educa- 
tion. In  order  that  Belle-Rose's  absence  might  not  be 
interpreted  in  an  unfavorable  manner,  he  had  apparently 


186  A  DIPLOMATIC  MISSION. 

been  charged  with  a  mission  for  Monsieur  de  Louvois.  On 
reaching  Chantilly,  Belle-Rose  went  to  see  the  prince's 
intendant,  who  counted  out  to  him  the  sum  agreed  upon. 

Having  arrived  at  the  house,  accompanied  bj7  Deroute, 
whom  he  left  before  the  door  with  the  horses,  Belle-Rose 
entered  the  garden  by  himself. 

"Monsieur  Bergame?"  said  he  to  a  litte  boy  who  was 
plucking  fruit. 

The  little  boy,  who  was  pale  and  sickly  looking,  looked 
at  Belle-Rose  with  a  cunning  air. 

"On  whose  part  do  you  come?"  said  he,  with  an  Italian 
accent. 

"On  my  own,"  replied  Belle-Rose. 

The  little  boy  saluted  him  politely. 

"It  is  very  well,  monsieur,  but  Monsieur  Bergame  being 
very  busy  cannot  receive  you  at  present.  You  will  have  to 
come  again. ' ' 

"Ah!"  thought  Belle-Rose,  "I  am  in  for  a  siege." 

Aloud  he  said : 

"Can  you  not  say  to  Monsieur  Bergame  that  it  concerns 
a  very  important  affair?" 

"For  whom,  monsieur?"  said  the  child,  with  a  simple 
air  which  concealed  great  cunning. 

"Eh,  but  for  him!"  exclaimed  Belle-Rose. 

"Pardon  me,  monsieur,"  said  the  child,  in  a  wheedling 
tone,  "but  it  is  generally  the  case  that  strangers  who  desire 
to  enter  always  have  important  affairs  to  treat. ' ' 

Belle-Rose  felt  like  seizing  the  little  rascal  by  the  neck 
and  gagging  him ;  but  there  were  people  passing  along  the 
road,  and  he  did  not  know  the  inmates  of  the  house ;  it 
was  no  time  to  employ  violence. 

"Come, "  he  replied,  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  makes  up 
his  mind  to  speak,  "since  you  wish  to  know  all,  take  this 
louis  for  yourself  and  run  to  tell  Monsieur  Bergame  that  it 
is  a  question  of  receiving  a  hundred  thousand  livres. ' ' 

At  sight  of  the  gold,  the  eyes  of  the  little  fellow  sparkled. 
His  fingers  seized  the  piece  like  the  claws  of  a  devil-fish, 
and  he  requested  Belle-Rose  to  follow  him. 

"Knavish,  but  avaricious!"  thought  Belle-Rose;  "one 
vice  corrects  the  other." 

The  child  left  Belle-Rose  in  a  hall  on  the  ground  floor, 
climbed  the  stair- way  which  led  to  the  upper  story,  and 
came  down  again  two  minutes  later. 

"Follow  me,  monsieur,"  said  he  to  Belle-Rose,  "Mon- 
sieur Bergame  is  up  there  waiting  for  you. ' ' 

The  little  boy  introduced  Belle-Rose  into  a  square  room 


A  DIPLOMATIC  MISSION.  187 

where  the  falconer's  son  at  once  began  to  search  with  his 
eyes  for  the  famous  closet  of  which  Monsieur  de  Luxem- 
bourg had  spoken.  It  was  in  one  corner,  behind  a  curtain 
which  would  have  concealed  it  from  one  less  well  in- 
formed. Monsieur  Bergame  eyed  Belle-Rose  with  the  ex- 
pression of  a  cat  watching  its  prey. 

"You  have  a  sum  of  money  to  turn  over  to  me,  did  you 
say,  monsieur?  or  has  the  child,  whose  simplicity  must  be 
excused,  erred  in  reporting  to  me  your  words?" 

"This  child  has  told  you  the  truth,  Monsieur  Bergame, 
and  I  am  ready  to  count  out  to  you  the  hundred  thousand 
livres  which  have  been  confided  to  me. ' ' 

"Very  well,  monsieur,  it  is  a  sum  which  I  will  receive — 
when  you  shall  have  told  me  why  it  has  been  sent  to  me. ' ' 

Belle -Rose  did  not  mistake  the  expression  of  the  glance 
which  Monsieur  Bergame  gave  him.  The  child  was  still 
present ;  fre  might  prove  an  embarrassing  witness  in  case 
it  was  necessary  to  employ  menace ;  Belle-Rose  resolved  to 
get  rid  of  him. 

"That  is  what  I  am  going  to  tell  you  presently;  permit 
me  only  to  go  and  get  the  money, ' '  and  he  went  out. 

What  he  had  foreseen  happened.  The  child  followed 
him. 

"Deroute,"  said  Belle-Rose,  in  a  low  tone  to  the  ser- 
geant, "while  I  am  unstrapping  this  valise  approach  that 
rascal  and  gag  him. ' ' 

Peppe — that  was  the  child's  name— looked  with  all  his 
eyes  at  the  valise  in  which  there  were  supposed  to  be  such 
beautiful  gold-pieces;  Deroute  tied  the  horse's  bridle 
around  a  limb  and  approached  Peppe ;  but  Peppe,  who  per- 
ceived him  from  the  corner  of  his  eye,  made  two  steps 
back. 

"Eh!"  said  Belle-Rose,  letting  fall  seven  or  eight  gold- 
pieces,  "the  money  is  escaping!  Come  this  way,  my  little 
fellow,  and  take  these  louis ;  if  you  carry  four  of  them  up 
there,  you  shall  have  two  of  them. " 

And  Belle-Rose,  taking  the  valise  upon  his  shoulders, 
moved  away.  The  child  threw  himself  upon  the  grass, 
where  the  gold  sparkled ;  Deroute  leaped  upon  him,  seized 
him  by  the  neck,  and  tied  a  handkerchief  over  his  mouth. 
Peppe  had  not  even  time  to  utter  a  sigh,  but  he  had  enough 
presence  of  mind  to  slip  four  or  five  gold-pieces  into  his 
pocket.  Belle-Rose,  who  had  seen  the  whole  affair,  rapidly 
remounted  to  where  Monsieur  Bergame  was. 

"Here  it  is, "  said  he,  placing  the  valise  upon  the  table. 


188  A  DIPLOMATIC   MISSION. 

"And  Peppe?"  asked  Monsieur  Bergame,  whose  eyes  had 
opened  at  the  silvery  noise  of  the  valise. 

"Oh,"  said  the  officer,  with  an  unconcerned  air,  "he  is 
amusing  himself  by  holding  my  horse  by  the  bridle. ' ' 

The  window  of  Monsieur  Bergame 's  apartment  opened 
upon  an  out-of-the-way  part  of  the  garden ;  he  had  not 
been  able  to  see  anything  and  had  no  suspicion. 

"Let  us  come  to  an  understanding, "  said  he,  pushing 
his  f auteuil  toward  the  table.  ' '  You  have  come  to  count 
me  out  a  hundred  thousand  livres,  and  I  ask  nothing 
better  than  to  receive  them,  but  still  I  must  know  the 
source  from  which  this  sum  comes. ' ' 

Belle-Rose  understood  that  it  was  necessary  to  play  his 
cards  well — to  risk  all  on  the  first  play. 

"It  is  an  exchange,"  he  boldly  replied. 

"Ah!"  said  the  old  man,  fixing  upon  him  his  small  and 
piercing  eyes. 

"Money  against  papers." 

"Ah!  ah!" 

"The  money  is  here,  and  the  papers  are  there,"  said 
Belle-Rose,  designating  the  place  where  the  closet  was 
situated. 

"Very  well;  I  take  the  louis  and  give  you  the  papers — 
is  that  it?" 

"Precisely." 

"But,  my  good  sir,  still  you  will  tell  me  from  whom  they 
come?" 

"Eh,  parbleu!  you  know  it  well." 

"Certainly,  but  I  would  not  be  displeased  to  have  the 
assurance  of  it. " 

"Eh!  monsieur,  I  am  sent  by  the  minister." 

"Monsieur  de  Louvois?" 

"Himself." 

"Then  you  have  a  letter  of  introduction,  some  slips  of 
paper  with  his  signature." 

"A  commission,  is  it  not?"  said  Belle-Rose,  without 
blinking. 

"Exactly." 

Belle-Rose  had  just  taken  his  part ;  while  Monsieur  Ber- 
game was  speaking,  the  lieutenant's  hand  had  slipped  under 
his  cloak. 

"My  commission,"  said  he,  "here  it  is." 

And  he  raised  his  pistol  till  it  was  on  a  level  with  Mon- 
sieur Bergame's  countenance. 

"If  you  say  a  word,  if  you  make  the  least  gesture,  you 
are  a  dead  man, ' '  he  added. 


A  DIPLOMATIC  MISSION.  189 

But  Monsieur  Bergame  took  care  not  to  cry  out ;  frozen 
with  terror,  lie  was  trembling  in  his  fauteuil. 

"Well,"  said  Belle-Rose;  "I  see  you  understand  me.  I 
well  knew  that  wre  would  end  by  coming  to  an  understand- 
ing. What  do  you  wish?  A  hundred  thousand  livres?  here 
they  are.  What  do  I  want?  papers?  I  take  them ;  we  are 
quits." 

"But,  monsieur,  it  is  a  ruffianly  act, "  murmured  Mon- 
sieur Bergame,  in  a  voice  stifled  by  fear. 

"Ah !  monsieur,  you  are  mistaken.     It  is  a  restitution. " 

"Ah!  my  God!  what  is  the  minister  going  to  say?"  said, 
in  a  low  tone,  Monsieur  Bergame,  who  followed  with 
terror  the  movements  of  Belle-Rose. 

"Eh!  my  dear  sir,  you  will  tell  him  that  you  have  wound 
up  the  affair  with  another. ' ' 

While  speaking  Belle  Rose  had  burst  the  locks  of  the 
closet,  and  had  taken  possession  of  a  package  of  papers  in- 
closed in  a  casket.  He  threw  a  rapid  glance  over  them  ; 
they  were  letters  yellowed  by  time  and  lists  filled  with 
names,  upon  which  were  to  be  seen  the  signatures  of  Mon- 
sieur de  Conde  and  Monsieur  de  Botteville. 

"Done, "  said  Belle-Rose;  "you  have  the  sum,  I  have  the 
merchandise.  Adieu,  my  good  Monsieur  Bergame." 

Saluting  the  poor  man,  he  went  out,  taking  care  to  bolt 
the  door  behind  him. 

"Deroute,  to  horse!"  said  Belle-Rose,  as  soon  as  he  was 
in  the  garden. 

The  sergeant's  foot  was  already  in  the  stirrups ;  they 
left  at  headlong  speed.  Peppe  had  succeeded  in  disem- 
barrassing himself  of  his  bonds,  which  had  not  been  diffi- 
cult as  soon  as  he  was  rid  of  Deroute's  surveillance.  His 
first  care  was  to  run  to  his  master  and  deliver  him.  Mon- 
sieur Bergame,  who  dreaded  above  all  things  the  anger  of 
Monsieur  de  Louvois,  at  once  ordered  Peppe  to  set  out  in 
pursuit  of  the  ravisher.  He  had  the  money,  he  would  not 
have  been  vexed  to  get  back  the  papers.  Peppe,  informed 
of  the  facts,  leaped  upon  a  horse  and  hastened  after  the 
two  cavaliers.  Peppe  was  an  Italian,  and  though  a  child, 
extremely  vindictive.  Belle-Rose's  horse  and  that  of  the 
sergeant  had  made  quite  a  journey  that  same  morning ; 
they  had  not  rested,  while  that  of  Peppe  was  fresh.  Belle- 
Rose  and  Deroute  had  their  spurs ;  Peppe  had  his  hatred. 
He  reached  them  at  the  barriers  of  Paris.  The  little  Italian 
followed  them  at  a  distance  and  saw  them  enter  the  house 
of  Monsieur  M6riset.  When  the  door  had  closed  upon  them, 
Peppe  ran  to  a  place  where  he  was  sure  to  find  some  men 


190  A  DIPLOMATIC  MISSION. 

of  the  police.  Monsieur  Meriset  welcomed  Belle-Rose  with 
that  soft  and  mysterious  smile  which  was  customary  with 
him. 

"I  have  had  a  little  dinner  prepared  for  you,"  said  he, 
rubbing  his  hands. 

"Very  good;  but  before  tasting  it,  I  would  be  much 
obliged  to  you,  my  dear  Monsieur  Meriset,  if  you  would  be 
so  kind  as  to  render  me  a  service. ' ' 

"What  is  it?" 

"That  of  lighting  me  a  good  fire  in  my  room. " 

Monsieur  Meriset  looked  at  Belle-Rose  with  an  astonished 
air. 

"Are  you  sick?" 

"Not  at  a1!." 

"It  is  that  fire  in  the  month  of  June " 

"Make  it,  my  dear  host;  fire  does  not  only  serve  to 
warm  by,  it  burns." 

Monsieur  Meriset  did  not  understand  Belle-Rose's  reply, 
but  like  a  man  who  was  accustomed  to  obey,  he  disap- 
peared. As  soon  as  the  fagots  were  ablaze,  Belle-Rose 
mounted  to  his  room,  tore  the  strings  which  surrounded 
the  papers,  and  set  to  work  to  burn  them.  At  this  moment 
a  great  tumult  burst  out  upon  the  stair- way,  the  voice  of 
Monsieur  de  Meriset  was  heard  in  disputation,  and  also 
that  of  Peppe.  Belle-Rose  rushed  to  the  door  and  pushed 
to  the  bolts.  The  papers  were  all  in  thb  fire.  In  the  midst 
of  the  noise  made  by  the  Italian,  Monsieur  Meriset,  and  the 
police  officer  disputing,  Belle-Rose  approached  a  window 
which  opened  upon  the  garden.  That  of  the  lower  hall, 
where,  Deroute  had  remained,  opened  just  below  it. 

"Hey!  sergeant,"  said  Belle-Rose,  in  a  low  tone. 

"The  police  are  here.  Slip  out  of  the  house  and  be  ready 
to  fly." 

"Are  you  coming?" 

"No;  they  are  knocking  at  the  door,  and  the  papers  are 
not  all  consumed  yet. " 

"Then  I  shall  stay." 

"As  you  choose;  but  when  both  of  us  are  in  prison, 
which  of  us  will  save  the  other. ' ' 

"Well,  I  shall  leave." 

"Go  and  tell  Monsieur  de  Luxembourg  what  you  have 
seen." 

They  were  knocking  furiously  upon  the  door.  Belle-Rose 
looked  toward  the  chimney ;  the  papers  were  three- fourths 
burned.  He  pushed  with  his  foot  what  were  left  in  the 
fire-place, 


TWO  WOMEN'S  HEARTS.  191 

"Open  in  the  name  of  the  king,"  said  a  voice  outside. 

"The  shortest  way  would  be  to  burst  in  the  door,"  said 
the  flute-like  voice  of  the  child. 

Three  blows  with  the  butt-end  of  a  musket  answered 
him;  the  wood  cracked,  and  the  child,  sure  that  the 
ravisher  could  not  escape  on  that  side,  ran  to  the  garden. 
Belle-Rose,  kneeling  in  front  of  the  chimney,  was  stirring 
up  what  was  left  of  the  papers.  Peppe  suddenly  showed 
his  face  at  the  window ;  in  one  bound  he  reached  the 
hearth,  pushed  aside  Belle-Rose,  and  sought  and  searched 
between  the  irons.  A  cloud  of  ashes  were  scattered  over 
the  child's  face.  Peppe  arose. 

"Monsieur,"  said  he  to  the  officer,  throwing  a  viper-like 
glance  at  Belle-Rose,  "there  is  the  man  who  stole  the 
papers  belonging  to  Monsieur  Bergame. ' ' 

"Eh,  boy,"  replied  Belle-Rose,  "you  should  not  lie;  I 
have  purchased  what  was  for  sale. " 

"Papers  which  were  destined  to  Monsieur  de  Lou vois!" 
replied  the  child,  who  had  grown  slightly  pale. 

This  redoubtable  name,  of  which  Peppe  had  already  em- 
ployed the  influence,  again  produced  its  effect. 

"March,  monsieur,"  said  the  officer. 

The  gallop  of  a  horse  resounded  in  the  Rue  du  Pot-de- 
Fer  St.  Sulpice.  Belle-Rose  smiled  and  turned  to  the 
officer. 

"Where  do  you  take  me,  monsieur?"  he  said  to  him. 

"To  the  Bastile. " 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 
TWO  WOMEN'S  HEARTS. 

Deroute  never  stopped  in  his  journey  from  Paris  to 
Douai,  where  the  army  now  was.  Monsieur  de  Luxem- 
bourg had  pushed  on  in  the  direction  of  Belgium  by  way 
of  Limbourg.  Pierre  was  the  first  person  whom  Deroute 
informed  of  Belle-Rose's  misadventure.  Pierre,  on  hearing 
this  narrative,  threw  his  musket  to  the  ground  with  so 
much  violence  that  he  broke  the  stock. 

"Run  to  see  the  Irishman,  I  am  going  to  see  Monsieur  de 
Naucrais,"  he  said  to  him. 

Monsieur  de  Naucrais  thought  of  Monsieur  de  Luxem- 
bourg; Cornelius  thought  of  Madame  de  Chateaufort. 
The  one  knew  the  honor  of  the  gentleman,  the  other  had 
tested  the  heart  of  the  woman.  Two  hours  after,  Monsieur 


192  TWO  WOMEN'S  HEARTS. 

de  Naucrais  left  for  Lirnbourg  and  Cornelius  for  Arras. 
At  the  name  of  Cornelius  O'Brien,  Madame  de  Chateaufort 
gave  orders  to  introduce  the  young  Irishman  into  her 
presence.  The  duchess  was  in  an  oratory  in  which  pene- 
trated only  a  doubtful  light ;  she  was  clothed  in  a  long 
robe  which  concealed  her  neck  and  arms.  A  pale  smile 
half  parted  her  lips  on  seeing  Cornelius. 

"What  brings  you?"  she  said  to  him;  "are  you  going  to 
give  me  the  joy  of  thinking  that  1  can  be  of  some  service 
to  you?" 

"Not  to  me,  but  to  another,  madame. " 

"Speak!"  said  the  duchess,  who  had  Belle-Rose's  name 
upon  her  lips  and  dared  not  pronounce  it. 

"Belle-Rose  is  arrested. " 

"Arrested!  did  you  say?"  exclaimed  Madame  de  Cha- 
teaufort,  fixing  her  frightened  glance  upon  Cornelius. 

Cornelius  related  the  circumstances  which  had  preceded 
and  accompanied  this  arrest.  Madame  de  Chateaufort 
listened  to  him  with  clasped  hands.  When  she  learned  that 
Belle-Rose  had  been  taken  to  the  Bastile,  she  shivered. 

"It  is  a  terrible  place, "  said  she;  "some  leave  it  to  lose 
their  lives,  others  remain  there  to  die." 

"We  must  get  him  out,  madame,  and  get  him  out  alive." 

"Certainly,  I  will  do  all  I  can,  but  am  I  sure  of  succeed- 
ing?" 

"You?  but  you  have  already  saved  him  from  death. 
You  will  save  him  from  prison,  too." 

Madame  de  Chateaufort  shook  her  head. 

"I  was  powerful  then,  and  he  was  only  a  soldier, "  said 
she.  "I  have  lost  my  credit,  and  he  is  now  a  criminal  of 
state." 

"He!"  said  Cornelius,  frightened. 

"Eh!  you  do  not  know  what  the  court  is  and  how  the 
innocent  are  transformed  into  the  guilty.  You  do  not 
know  Monsieur  de  Louvois;  ferocious,  violent,  and  im- 
perious, he  hates  those  who  wound  him,  and  he  is  not  the 
man  to  pardon  Belle-Rose." 

"He  need  not  pardon  him,  but  let  him  give  him  back  his 
liberty.  He  will  not  dare  to  refuse  you." 

"Perhaps  not,  if  I  were  still  young,  beautiful,  and 
powerful.  Look  at  me  and  tell  me  if  I  am  she  whom  you 
knew  three  months  ago.  I  have  left  the  court,  others  have 
come,  and  I  am  forgotten.  Oh,  do  not  say  no,  those  who 
move  around  a  king  forget  quickly !" 

"What  must  we  do,  then?"  exclaimed  Cornelius. 

"Attempt  everything  and  pray  God.    I  will  go  to  see 


TWO  WOMEN'S  HEAETS.  193 

Monsieur  de  Louvois,  I  \vill  speak  to  him  and  leave  him 
only  after  having  exhausted  every  resource.  For  sad  and 
depressed  though  I  am,  I  still  recollect  that  I  am  Madame 
de  Chateaufort. " 

At  this  outburst  of  a  soul  proud  even  in  distress,  Cor- 
nelius felt  shine  in  his  heart  a  ray  of  hope. 

"You  will  save  him !"  he  exclaimed. 

"Oh!"  she  rejoined,  "I  will  go  even  to  the  king  if  it  is 
necessary  before  letting  him  perish.  But  stay,  I  would  be 
quite  sure  of  his  life  if  some  woman  with  credit  at  court 
interested  herself  in  his  fate." 

"A  woman?"  said  Cornelius. 

"Yes,"  replied  Genevieve;  "if  women  cannot  influence 
Monsieur  de  Louvois,  they  certainly  can  the  king.  Mon- 
sieur de  Luxembourg  is  compromised ;  he  can  be  of  no 
assistance  to  us.  A  woman  is  our  only  resource." 

"But  you,  madame?"  exclaimed  Cornelius. 

"Oh!  I  am  disgraced — my  husband  is  no  longer  any- 
thing, and  even  my  name  is  no  longer  known." 

"After  you,  madame, "  replied  Cornelius,  "I  know  only 
Madame  d'Albergotti." 

"Madame  d'Albergotti!"  repeated  Genevieve,  trembling 
from  head  to  foot. 

"The  friend  of  Belle-Rose  and  the  protectress  of  his 
sister. ' ' 

Madame  de  Chateaufort  had  bowed  her  forehead  over 
her  beautiful  hand.  After  a  moment's  silence,  she  re- 
sumed : 

"Well!  it  is  necessary  for  Madame  d'Albergotti  to  go 
herself  to  see  the  king." 

Madame  de  Chauteaufort  spoke  with  an  extraordinary 
emotion. 

"Madame  d'Albergotti  is  at  Compiegne  with  her  hus- 
band, whose  condition  has  not  permitted  him  to  go  to 
Paris,"  said  Cornelius;  "so  I  have  been  informed  by  a 
young  person  attached  to  the  marquise." 

"In  going  to  Paris  to  see  Monsieur  de  Louvois,  I  will 
pass  by  Compiegne  and  first  see  Madame  d'Albergotti." 

Madame  de  Chateaufort  arose  after  these  words  and  took 
leave  of  Cornelius. 

Just  as  the  Irish  gentleman  was  retiring  she  took  his 
hand  and  pressed  it  strongly. 

"Count  upon  me,  whatever  happens,"  said  she. 

Monsieur  de  Luxembourg  manifested  much  grief  when 
Monsieur  de  Naucrais  related  to  him  the  arrest  of  Belle- 
Rose. 


194  TWO  WOMEN'S  HEARTS. 

"I  do  not  know  yet  whether  I  can  do  much, "  said  the 
duke  to  the  colonel,  "but  believe  me  that  I  shall  do  all  I 
can.  I  will  see  the  Prince  de  Conde  and  corue  to  an  under- 
standing with  him  concerning  this  affair.  The  worst  is 
that  Monsieur  de  Louvois  hates  me.  My  name  is  a  bad 
recommendation  with  the  minister." 

"And  the  king?" 

"The  king  is  waiting;  he  has  not  yet  tried  me.  If  I 
risked  only  my  sword  and  my  rank,  I  would  not  hesitate 
a  moment  to  go  to  see  him ;  but  I  would  expose  Belle-Rose 
to  all  the  resentment  of  Monsieur  de  Louvois  without 
having  the  certainty  of  being  able  to  guarantee  him 
against  it.  As  yet  he  is  only  a  prisoner ;  let  us  not  rush 
things,  for  fear  he  may  be  treated  as  a  criminal.  But,  I 
have  told  you,  count  upon  me." 

Madame  de  Chateaufort  lost  no  time  and  left  during  the 
night  for  Paris.  Passing  by  Cornpiegne  the  next  day,  she 
had  Madame  d'Albergotti's  house  pointed  out  to  her  and 
went  to  it.  Madame  d'Albergotti  quitted  her  husband  to 
receive  her.  She  seemed  fatigued  by  long  vigils  and  suffer- 
ing from  a  secret  malady.  Genevieve  looked  at  her  for  a 
moment,  seeking  to  subdue  her  emotion.  At  the  name  of 
Madame  de  Chateaufort,  Suzanne  had  stifled  a  cry  of  sur- 
prise. Both  knew  each  other  without  ever  having  spoken 
to  each  other. 

"What  do  you  desire  of  me,  madame?"  said  Suzanne. 

"Madame,"  replied  Genevieve,  "an  unfortunate  accident 
has  struck  a  person  for  whom  you  profess  sentiments  of 
friendship;  Belle-Rose  has  been  arrested." 

Madame  d'Albergotti  paled  at  these  words. 

"He  has  been  arrested  by  order  of  Monsieur  de  Louvois 
and  taken  to  the  Bastile,"  continued  Madame  de  Chateau- 
fort. 

Madame  d'Albergotti  pressed  her  hand  to  her  heart  and 
tottered.  The  cold  chill  of  death  had  seized  her.  But 
Madame  de  Chateaufort  was  before  her,  and  Suzanne 
struggled  against  her  emotions. 

"I  do  not  seek  to  hide  the  grief  which  this  news  causes 
me,"  said  she.  "Monsieur  Jacques  Grinedal  was  my  child- 
hood friend ;  but  however  much  I  regret  his  misfortune, 
what  can  I  do  for  him?" 

"He  is  in  prison,  death  threatens  him,  and  you  ask  me 
what  you  can  do  for  him?"  exclaimed  the  duchess. 

Suzanne  looked  at  Madame  de  Chateaufort  and  waited. 

"But  you  can  save  him!"  said  Genevieve. 


TWO  WOMEN'S  HEARTS.  195 

"How  can  I  do  it?  Speak,  and  if  honor  permits  me,  I  am 
ready. ' ' 

"You  have  been  presented  to  the  king,  have  you  not?" 
continued  Madame  de  Chateaufort,  rapidly. 

"I  was  presented  to  him  at  Charleroi  by  Monsieur  d'Al- 
bergotti." 

"His  Majesty,  they  say,  holds  the  marquis  in  high  es- 
teem." 

"His  Majesty  has  given  him  the  assurance  of  it  by 
giving  him  the  government  of  a  considerable  place." 

"Well,  madame,  Belle-Rose's  life  is  in  the  hands  of  the 
king,  and  he  alone  can  snatch  it  from  the  hands  of  Mon- 
sieur de  Louvois.  Run  to  Lille  and  obtain  his  intervention 
between  Belle-Rose  and  the  minister." 

Suzanne  felt  her  heart  breaking.  She  saw  Belle-Rose's 
pardon  dependent  upon  her  decision  and  remained  mute. 

"He  is  at  the  Bastile!  what  are  you  waiting  for, 
madame?"  said  Genevieve. 

"Monsieur  d'Albergotti  is  here,"  said  Suzanne,  in  a 
dying  voice. 

"He  loves  you,  and  you  hesitate!" 

"It  is  because  he  loves  me  that  I  hesitate!"  ex- 
claimed Suzanne ;  "I  must  remain  worthy  of  that  love. 
He  himself  would  repulse  me  if  I  left  this  house  where 
honor  detains  me.  If  I  were  free,  I  would  be  near  him ; 
married,  I  remain  where  my  husband  is." 

"This,  then,  is  the  way  you  love,  my  God!"  exclaimed 
Genevieve,  with  hands  extended  toward  heaven.  "If  he 
had  loved  me  as  he  loves  you,  I  would  have  forgotten 
everything." 

"Each  has  his  heart,"  said  Suzanne;  "God  sees  us  and 
God  judges  us." 

"Oh!  you  have  never  loved  him." 

"I  have  not  loved  him!"  exclaimed  Suzanne,  who  was 
wringing  her  hands  in  despair;  "but  do  you  know  that 
since  my  childhood  this  heart  has  had  no  pulsation  which 
has  not  been  his,  that  I  exist  only  through  his  memory, 
that  1  love  him  so  profoundly  that  I  should  not  wish  to 
bring  him  a  life  in  which  the  shadow  of  a  fault  had  passed, 
a  soul  which  the  breath  of  evil  had  tarnished.  You  say 
that  I  do  not  love  him ;  he  has  loved  and  I  have  suffered ; 
he  has  forgotten  and  I  have  recollected !  I  live  in  my 
house  as  in  a  cloister.  I  pray  and  I  weep — I  am  in  the 
world  as  if  I  did  not  exist.  My  life  flows  away  between 
God  whom  I  invoke  and  a  sick  man  whom  I  console.  I 
have  neither  joy,  repose,  nor  contentment.  I  have  made 


196  THE  AKGUMENTS  OF  A  MINISTER. 

of  marriage  a  tomb,  and  you  say  that  I  do  not  love  him !" 

Never  had  Suzanne  spoken  with  this  exaltation ;  Gene- 
vieve  looked  at  her  with  surprise,  and  felt  touched  even  to 
tears  at  the  aspect  of  that  countenance  in  which  were  re- 
flected all  the  sacrifices  of  a  soul  a  moment  unvailed. 
Genevieve  fell  to  her  knees. 

"You  love  him !  you  love  him !  my  God !  What  am  I  be- 
side you?" 

When  Suzanne  returned  to  Monsieur  d'Albergotti  she 
•was  very  pale,  and  her  reddened  eyes  still  preserved  the 
traces  of  the  tears  which  she  had  shed. 

Meanwhile  Madame  de  Chateaufort  pushed  straight  on 
to  Paris.  She  descended  from  the  carriage  only  to  mount 
to  Monsieur  de  Louvois'  room.  At  the  first  words  which 
she  uttered  touching  on  the  affair  which  had  brought  her 
to  Paris,  the  minister  stopped  her. 

"Belle-Rose  owes  you  his  life  once  already.  He  shall  not 
owe  you  anything  else." 

Madame  de  Chateaufort  let  escape  a  gesture  of  astonish- 
ment. 

"Oh!"  continued  Monsieur  de  Louvois,  "memory  is  one 
of  the  requirements  of  my  profession.  I  forget  nothing. 
Belle-Rose's  new  crime  is  not  one  of  those  for  which  a 
man  is  beheaded,  but  it  is  sufficient  to  detain  him  in 
prison  the  rest  of  his  life.  He  is  at  the  Bastile — he  shall 
stay  there." 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

THE  ARGUMENTS  OF  A  MINISTER. 

After  the  accustomed  formalities  which  preceded  the 
incarceration  of  a  prisoner  in  the  Bastile,  Belle-Rose  had 
been  taken  to  a  room  which  had  a  view  giving  upon  the 
Faubourg  St.  Antoine.  He  heard  the  bolts  close  and  found 
himself  alone.  When  night  came  the  profoundest  obscurity 
enveloped  him;  it  was  with  difficulty  that  he  recognized, 
by  the  pale  light  which  came  from  it,  the  place  where  the 
window  opened.  It  was  narrow  and  provided  with  stout 
iron  bars.  At  a  musket-shot  below,  the  little  houses  of  the 
Faubourg  St.  Antoine  showed  their  roofs.  Here  and  there, 
in  the  midst  of  the  shadows  shone  immovable  lights  which 
were  located  in  these  houses.  Belle-Rose  leaned  against 
the  window-sill,  and  looked  at  that  corner  of  the  great 
city  from  which  mounted  still  a  little  of  that  murmur 


THE  ARGUMENTS  OF  A  MINISTER.  197 

•which  floats  unceasingly  over  Paris.  One  of  the  lights  dis- 
appeared, then  another,  then  still  another.  Presently  only 
three  or  four  were  to  be  distinguished  which  shone  like 
stars  fallen  from  heaven.  While  Belle-Rose  was  contem- 
plating them,  an  indefinable  emotion  penetrated  his  heart ; 
it  seemed  to  him  that  these  lights  were  the  images  of 
those  whom  he  had  known.  One  of  those  radiant  sparks 
suddenly  carried  away  by  an  invisible  hand,  recalled  to 
him  Monsieur  d'Assonville  killed  in  the  prime  of  life;  a 
rod  light,  which  brusquely  disappeared  in  the  sinister 
folds  of  the  night,  made  him  recollect  Monsieur  de  Ville- 
brais  and  the  funereal  hour  which  had  sounded  his  death ; 
farther  still,  a  soft  and  trembling  light,  slowly  eclipsed 
behind  a  thick  curtain,  made  him  think  of  his  father, 
whose  life  had  been  so  honest  and  whose  death  had  been 
so  loyal. 

As  he  was  meditating  thus,  he  heard  the  bolts  of  his  cell 
3reak ;  the  door  opened,  the  red  light  of  a  torch  illumined 
his  room,  and  Belle-Rose  saw,  on  turning  round,  the  lieu- 
tenant of  the  Bastile  preceded  by  a  turnkey  and  followed 
by  three  or  four  soldiers. 

"Monsieur,"  the  officer  said  to  him,  "I  have  an  order  to 
bring  you  to  the  council-room  where  the  governor  is  ex- 
pecting you." 

"I  follow  you,"  replied  Belle-Rose. 

His  escort  threaded  a  long  corridor,  at  the  end  of  which 
they  descended  a  stair-way  which  led  to  an  interior  court 
of  the  Bastile.  They  traversed  it,  passed  under  a  porch, 
mounted  another  stair-way  and  stopped  before  a  vaulted 
room  which  adjoined  the  military  lodgings  of  the  gov- 
ernor. The  governor  was  standing  near  a  personage  un- 
known to  Belle-Rose,  but  who  seemed  all-powerful,  judg- 
ing from  the  respectful  manner  with  which  the  governor 
spoke  to  him.  When  Belle-Rose  was  introduced,  this  per- 
sonage turned  toward  him.  From  the  description  given 
him  while  in  the  army,  Belle-Rose  recognized  Monsieur  de 
Louvois.  The  redoubtable  minister  fixed  upon  him  a 
piercing  look  as  if  he  had  wished  to  read  the  very  depth  of 
his  heart.  Belle-Rose  waited  with  head  elevated  and  glance 
firm. 

"Approach,  monsieur,"  the  minister  said  to  him. 

Belle-Rose  made  a  step  forward. 

"Is  it  indeed  you  who  have  gone  this  morning  to  Mon- 
sieur Bergamo's?"  continued  Monsieur  de  Louvois. 

"I  am  the  man." 


198  THE  ARGUMENTS  OF  A  MINISTER. 

"You  have  taken  from  him  papers  which  were  destined 
to  me?" 

"I  have  paid  for  papers  which  were  for  sale." 

"But  I  had  purchased  these  papers?" 

"In  a  similar  affair,  the  thing  belongs  to  him  who  pre- 
sents himself  first." 

"Eh,  monsieur,  you  have  some  audacity,"  said  the  min- 
ister, ironically;  "but  I  will  know  how  to  draw  from  you 
what  I  wish." 

"That  depends  on  what  you  wish." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  during  which  the  two 
interlocutors  examined  each  other.  Monsieur  de  Louvois 
was  the  first  to  break  it. 

"You  have  burned  these  papers,  monsieur?" 

"Yes,  monsiegneur. "' 

"All?" 

"All." 

"Did  you  learn  their  contents?" 

"No,  monseigneur." 

"But  you  suspected,  then,  what  they  contained,  since 
you  have  made  such  haste  to  secure  their  disappearance." 

"I  might  suppose  at  least  that  they  had  some  import- 
ance, seeing  the  haste  with  which  I  was  pursued." 

"And  you  are  not  deceived.  You  would  not  be  here  were 
it  not  the  case." 

"I  slightly  suspect  it." 

"A  word  can  draw  you  from  it,  monsieur." 

"Only  one,  monseigneur?" 

"Only  one.    You  see  that  my  conditions  are  light." 

"Eh!  monseigneur,  there  are  words  which  are  worth 
heads." 

"Take  care,  also,  that  silence  does  not  endanger  yours." 

Monsieur  de  Louvois  was  getting  angry ;  as  to  Belle- 
Rose,  he  lost  nothing  of  his  calm  and  proud  tranquillity. 

"Let  us  dismiss  that!"  resumed  the  minister,  "the 
question  is  whether  or  not  you  wish  to  save  your  head." 

"Is  it  threatened,  monseigneur?" 

"More,  perhaps,  than  you  think." 

"And  all  this  because  I  have  paid  a  hundred  thousand 
livres  for  those  papers  which  I  have  not  read.  Blood  for 
ink,  you  are  lavish,  monseigneur." 

"A  word  can  save  you,"  said  Monsieur  de  Louvois,  who 
could  hardly  restrain  his  anger. 

"And  what  is  the  word?" 

"The  name  of  the  person  for  whom  you  carried  off  these 
papers. ' ' 


THE  ARGUMENTS  OP  A  MINISTER.  199 

Belle-Rose  did  not  reply. 

"Have  you  heard  me,  monsieur?"  exclaimed  the  min- 
ister. 

'Perfectly." 

'Why  do  you  not  speak,  then?" 
'The  truth  is  that  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  do  so." 
'And  why?" 

'If  I  told  you  that  I  have  taken  them  for  myself  and  of 
my  own  volition,  would  you  believe  me?" 
'Certainly  not." 

'Then  you  think  I  am  the  repository  of  a  person  who 
has  placed  his  confidence  in  me.  To  speak  would  be  a 
cowardice  which  you  would  not  seriously  propose  to  me; 
you  see,  then,  monseigneur,  that  I  ought  to  be  silent." 

"This  is  all  you  have  to  say?" 

"You  should  be  convinced  of  it  by  this  time." 

"I  might  believe  it,  monsieur,  did  we  not  have  here 
marvelous  instruments  for  snatching  words  from  those 
who  are  most  mute." 

"Try,"  said  Belle-Rose,  and  he  crossed  his  arms  upon 
his  breast. 

Monsieur  de  Louvois  looked  at  him  a  moment  without 
speaking,  and  then  arose.  Upon  a  sign  of  his  hand,  the 
officer  who  had  brought  Belle-Rose  took  him  back  to  his 
cell.  When  they  were  alone,  the  governor  of  the  Bastile 
approached  Monsieur  de  Louvois. 

"Hold,  monseigneur, "  he  said  to  him,  "I  know  some- 
thing about  faces.  That  is  a  young  man  whom  we  will  not 
succeed  in  making  speak.  He  will  die;  that  is  all." 

"We  shall  see,"  murmured  Monsieur  de  Louvois. 

Scarcely  had  Belle-Rose  been  recommitted  to  his  cell 
than  he  ran  to  the  window.  Far  away  in  the  shadows  of 
the  night  some  lights  were  still  shining.  Belle-Rose  went 
to  sleep,  calm  and  smiling.  The  next  day  was  passed 
without  any  new  incident  coming  to  disturb  the  prisoner 
in  his  meditations.  About  the  dinner  hour  a  turnkey 
slipped  into  his  hand  a  slip  of  paper  and  moved  away,  his 
finger  upon  his  lips.  Belle-Rose  opened  the  paper  and 
found  only  these  words,  "A  friend  is  watching  over  you." 
At  the  first  glance  he  recognized  the  handwriting  of  Gene- 
vieve. 

"Poor  woman!"  said  he,  between  two  sighs,  "she  recol- 
lects, and  it  is  of  Suzanne  I  am  thinking," 

When  night  had  come,  Belle-Rose  approached  the  win- 
dow, and  as  on  the  evening  before,  he  began  to  count  the 
trembling  lights  which  shone  in  the  darkness.  For  an 


200  THE  ARGUMENTS  OF  A  MINISTER. 

hour  or  two  he  had  been  absorbed  in  this  mute  contempla- 
tion, when  he  heard  footsteps  in  the  corridor  which  bor- 
dered on  his  cell.  The  same  officer  who  had  come  the 
evening  before  advanced  toward  him,  and  in  a  grave  voice 
asked  him  if  he  were  disposed  to  follow  him.  Belle-Rose, 
for  sole  reply,  walked  toward  the  door.  This  evening  the 
escort  took  a  different  route  from  that  which  it  had  fol- 
lowed the  first  time.  After  having  threaded  several  som- 
ber corridors,  traversed  black  vaults  where  the  footsteps 
of  the  soldiers  reverberated  by  the  echoes  sounded  in  ca- 
dence, mounted  and  descended  divers  narrow  and  funereal 
stair-ways,  they  entered  an  oblong  hall  which  was  lit  up 
by  four  flambeaux  attached  to  the  walls.  A  clerk  was 
seated  before  a  little  table,  on  which  was  to  be  seen  all 
that  which  were  necessary  for  writing.  Along  the  sides 
there  shone  in  the  red  light  of  the  torches  sinister  instru- 
ments of  a  strange  form.  At  the  foot  of  the  wall  were 
wooden  horses,  chains,  and  pincers ;  a  chafing-dish  was 
burning  in  an  obscure  recess,  oak  planks  and  mallets 
stained  with  blood  were  heaped  together  in  one  corner 
along  with  cords  and  wedges,  Near  the  clerk  was  seated  a 
man  dressed  in  black,  whom  Belle-Rose  took  for  a  phy- 
sician. The  governor  of  the  Bastile,  sad  and  grave,  was 
finishing  reading  a  letter,  two  steps  from  the  table.  On 
the  arrival  of  Belle-Rose,  the  governor  crumpled  up  the 
letter,  pushed  a  chair  near  the  clerk's  table,  and  sat  down, 
after  having  saluted  the  prisoner.  From  the  preparations 
he  saw,  Belle-Rose  understood  that  the  hour  had  come ;  he 
recommended  his  soul  to  God,  murmured  the  name  of 
Suzanne  as  he  would  have  done  a  prayer,  and  waited. 

"You  heard  yesterday  what  Monsieur  de  Louvois  said  to 
you,  monsieur, "  the  governor  said  to  him;  "do  you  still 
persist  in  your  refusal  to  make  known  the  name  of  the 
person  who  charged  you  with  carrying  off  Monsieur  Ber- 
game's  papers?" 

"I  do." 

"I  must  warn  you  that  I  have  received  orders  to  employ 
against  you  the  means  of  which  the  law  authorizes  the  use 
if  you  continue  to  keep  silent." 

"You  will  do  your  duty,  monsieur;  I  will  endeavor  to  do 
mine." 

The  governor  was  silent  for  some  minutes ;  the  clerk  was 
•writing  down  the  replies. 

"Therefore,  monsieur,  you  have  nothing  more  to  de- 
clare?" said  the  governor. 

"Nothing." 


"Oh!  you   lie!"   exclaimed   Su/anne,  rising,   her  face    purple  with 
indignation — p.  224 


THE  ARGUMENTS  OF  A  MINISTEK.  201 

"Let  your  will  be  clone." 

The  governor  made  a  sign  to  two  men  "whom  Belle-Rose 
had  not  remarked,  and  who  had  remained  up  to  this  mo- 
ment  in  an  obscure  corner  of  the  hall.  These  two  men 
seized  the  prisoner  and  began  to  undress  him.  When  he 
no  longer  had  anything  on  except  his  trousers  and  his 
shirt,  they  extended  him  upon  a  sort  of  long  chair ;  his 
arms  were  tied  to  the  rounds  of  the  chair,  and  the  physi- 
cian approached  the  patient.  Belle-Rose  had  not  made  the 
least  resistance  to  all  this.  When  he  was  half  stretched 
out  upon  the  chair  the  governor  asked  him  if  he  still  per- 
sisted in  his  refusal. 

"I  cannot  desert  at  tha  moment  of  combat,"  Belle-Rose 
answered  him,  with  a  pale  smile. 

"Then  the  order  must  be  executed,"  said  the  governor. 

One  of  the  torturers  brought  near  the  chair  two  large 
buckets  full  of  water,  filled  a  pint  cup,  and  advanced  it  to 
the  patient's  lips. 

"Ah!"  said  Belle-Rose,  "it  is  the  torture  of  water." 

"Yes,  monsieur,"  said  the  physician,  "it  sometimes 
kills,  but  if  one  escapes  it,  one  is  not  mutilated." 

Belle-Rose  thanked  the  governor  by  a  look  and  swal 
lowed  the  pint  of  water.  A  second  one  was  presented  to 
him,  but  he  could  not  drink  it  all.  One  of  the  assistants 
laid  his  head  back  and  emptied  the  pint  even  to  the  last 
drop.  Belle-Rose  trembled. 

"We  are  ready  to  receive  your  confessions,  monsieur, " 
the  governor  said;  "do  you  wish  to  speak?" 

A  third  pint  was  raised  to  the  height  of  Belle-Rose's 
lips,  he  drank  a  few  swallows,  but  his  teeth  came  together 
by  a  convulsive  movement,  and  the  water  flowed  over  his 
naked  breast. 

"Do  you  still  persist  in  your  silence,  monsieur?"  inter- 
rupted the  governor. 

"Yes,"  said  Belle-Rose,  in  a  choking  voice. 

One  of  the  torturers  half  parted  his  lips  by  the  aid  of  a 
piece  of  iron,  introduced  into  Belle-Rose's  mouth  the  neck 
of  a  funnel,  and  poured  down  another  pint.  Belle-Rose 
grew  horribly  pale ;  his  fingers  clasped  the  wood,  and  with 
a  shock,  extorted  by  grief,  he  shook  the  chair  upon  which 
he  was  tied.  Another  pint  of  water  disappeared  in  the 
funnel,  then  still  another.  Great  drops  of  sweat  rolled 
down  the  patient's  forehead,  his  eyes  became  blood-shot, 
and  his  cheeks  took  on  a  bluish  tinge.  The  governor  re- 
iterated his  question ;  Belle-Rose  could  still  hear,  but  no 
longer  being  able  to  reply,  he  made  a  negative  sign  of  the 


202  WHAT  WOMAN  WISHES,  GOD  WISHES. 

head.  The  funnel  was  filled  again.  A  violent  convulsion 
agitated  the  body  of  the  patient,  he  uttered  a  hollow  cry, 
stiffened  his  limbs,  broke  the  bonds  which  bound  one  of 
his  arms,  seized  the  funnel,  crushed  it  between  his  fingers, 
and,  overwhelmed  by  suffering,  fell  back  fainting  upon 
the  chair.  The  physician,  who  had  been  consulting  Belle- 
Rose's  pulse,  placed  his  hand  upon  the  patient's  heart. 

"Well?"  asked  the  governor. 

"Eh!"  said  the  physician,  "he  is  a  vigorous  subject.  He 
could  still  be  made  to  swallow  one  or  two  pints ;  but  at  the 
third  he  would  run  the  risk  of  dying." 

The  valets  got  ready  the  funnel  and  buckets. 

"Is  he  in  a  condition  to  hear  me?"  said  the  governor. 

"Him?"  said  the  physician.  "Eh,  monsieur,  the  trum- 
pets of  Jericho  might  sound  without  making  him  move ! 
Nevertheless  we  have  a  means  of  returning  to  patients  the 
use  of  their  senses." 

"What  is  it?" 

"Hot  irons." 

"They  are  ready,"  said  one  of  the  torturers,  pointing 
out  with  his  finger  the  chafing-dish. 

The  governor  stopped  him  with  a  gesture ;  horror  and 
pity  were  depicted  upon  his  face. 

"We  have  had  enough  of  that.  I  will  inform  Monsieur 
de  Louvois  of  the  result  of  this  sitting,  and  we  shall  see 
about  it  after,"  said  he. 

Upon  his  order  Belle- Rose  was  carried  back  to  his  room; 
the  physician  followed  him.  When  the  sad  cortege  had 
passed  the  door,  the  governor  shook  his  head. 

"I  had  predicted  it, "  he  murmured.  "He  is  one  of  those 
men  who  die  and  do  not  speak." 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

WHAT  WOMAN  WISHES,    GOD  WISHES. 

Informed  by  the  governor  of  what  had  taken  plane  dur- 
ing the  night  at  theBastile,  Monsieur  de  Louvois  shrugged 
his  shoulders. 

"It  is  unfortunate,"  said  he,  "that  Belle-Rose  belongs  to 
Monsieur  de  Luxembourg.  Were  it  not  for  this  fact,  we 
might  have  made  something  out  of  him." 

"What!  monseigneur,  you  know?" 

"I  know  everything;  while  you  were  submitting  him  to 


WHA.T  WOMAN  WISHES,  GOD  WISHES.  203 

the  question,  a  courier  has  arrived  from  Flanders ;  I  have 
learned  that  the  same  night  of  Belle-Rose's  departure  the 
young  officer  had  had  a  conference  with  Monsieur  de 
Luxembourg ;  the  details  of  a  scene  which  took  place  in 
the  camp  at  Charleroi  apropos  of  a  captain  who  had  in- 
curred the  death  penalty,  have  been  related  to  me;  I  have 
learned  everything ;  the  soldier  has  been  the  general's  in- 
strument." 

'May  I  ask  your  excellency  what  you  count  on  doing?" 

'Me:1  nothing." 

'The  question,  then,  becomes  useless?" 

'Altogether  so." 

'And  the  prisoner  can  be  liberated?" 

'No.     I  forget  him — that  is  all." 

The  governor  understood  the  terrible  significance  of 
these  words,  which  condemned  Belle-Rose  to  perpetual 
imprisonment. 

"It  must  be  known,"  said  the  minister,  rising,  "that 
through  me  everything  can  be  done,  that  without  me 
nothing  can  be  done." 

"Permit  me  to  hope,  monseigneur,  that  you  will  authorize 
me  to  one  day  resume  this  conversation." 

"So  be  it;  I  adjourn  you  to  twenty  years." 

While  these  things  were  transpiring  at  Paris,  Madame 
d'Albergotti  was  lavishing  on  her  husband  the  most  tender 
caresses ;  her  face  had  become  as  white  as  a  taper ;  her  hands 
seemed  as  transparent  as  alabaster.  When  evening  came 
Claudine  accompanied  her  to  her  room,  which  adjoined 
that  of  the  marquis. 

"My  God!  you  are  killing  yourself,"  the  poor  girl  said 
to  her,  as  she  embraced  her. 

"Leave,"  answered  Suzanne,  sadly,  "it  is  for  me  the 
coming  of  repose." 

One  night,  the  third  since  the  visit  of  Madame  de 
Chateaufort,  Monsieur  d'Albergotti  called  Suzanne.  Su- 
zanne was  already  at  his  bedside. 

"You  are  suffering?"  said  she. 

"No,  I  am  finishing  with  it." 

Suzanne  opened  her  mouth  to  speak,  but  Monsieur  d'Al- 
bergotti stopped  her  with  a  gesture. 

"I  have  sent  for  you,"  he  continued,  "to  let  you  receive 
my  farewell.  I  have  always  loved  vou  as  a  father  loves 
his  child,  you  have  returned  this  affection  as  much  as  it 
was  in  you  to  do  so ;  you  have  been  honest,  pious,  and  re- 
signed ;  God  owes  you  a  recompense.  Approach,  Suzanne, 
so  that  I  may  bless  you. " 


204  WHAT  WOMAN  WISHES,  GOD  WISHES. 

Suzanne  knelt  down  near  the  bed ;  she  had  well  under- 
stood from  Monsieur  d'Albergotti's  air  that  something 
strange  and  mysterious  was  passing  in  him.  Monsieur 
d'Albergotti  placed  both  of  his  hands  upon  his  young 
wife's  forehead  and  prayed.  Presently  his  hands  grew 
heavy  and  cold.  Suzanne  parted  them  and  looked  at  her 
husband.  The  old  captain  had  just  surrendered  his  soul  to 
God.  Madame  d'Albergotti  kissed  him  on  the  forehead, 
and  went  to  kneel  under  the  image  of  Christ,  where  she 
passed  the  night  in  prayer.  After  she  had  paid  the  last 
tributes  to  her  husband's  remains  she  commanded  a  car- 
riage and  horses.  Claudine  had  never  seen  her  so  prompt 
and  resolute. 

"Is  it  to  Paris  that  we  are  going?"  she  said  to  her. 

"No!  The  king  is  in  Flanders,  it  is  to  Flanders  that  I 
am  going.  I  am  free  now,  and  Belle-Eose  is  suffering." 

While  Suzanne  was  flying  over  the  route  to  Lille,  the 
captive,  overwhelmed  by  the  intolerable  sufferings  which 
ho  had  experienced,  remained  stretched  out  in  his  bed. 
His  mind  was  covered  by  a  vail.  The  fourth  day  he  rose 
tip.  The  turnkey,  who  had  already  slipped  a  paper  in  his 
hand,  came  to  him  and  let  fall  at  his  feet  another  rolled 
paper.  Belle-Hose  picked  it  up  and  found  upon  it  these 
words : 

"If  you  are  sick,  remain  sick;  if  you  are  not,  pretend  to 
be  so." 

This  time  it  was  Suzanne's  writing.  Belle-Rose  con- 
cealed the  paper  over  his  heart,  went  to  bed  again  and 
waited.  Meanwhile  Cornelius  and  Deroute  had  arrived  at 
Paris,  urged  on  by  an  uneasiness  which  they  did  not  seek 
to  subdue.  Monsieur  de  Naucrais  had  anticipated  the  de- 
sires of  the  sergeant  by  giving  him  an  unlimited  leave. 

"Here  is  a  signature  which  prevents  my  deserting, "  said 
Deroute,  pressing  the  paper.  "When  I  was  commanding 
the  drill  and  thinking  of  my  lieutenant,  my  halberd  was 
like  a  red-hot  iron  in  my  hands." 

"Go, "  said  Monsieur  de  Naucrais,  "and  attempt  every- 
thing to  save  him.  If  we  were  not  before  the  enemy,  you 
should  not  leave  alone." 

As  to  Madame  de  Chauteaufort,  she  went  from  the  Bas- 
tille to  Monsieur  de  Louvois,  mournful  and  despairing. 
This  time  the  proud  and  valiant  Spanish  woman  felt  her- 
self conquered.  One  day  as  she  was  alone  in  her  oratory, 
she  saw  Madame  d'Albergotti  enter.  Forgetting  at  the 
same  time  both  her  abandoned  love  and  her  devouring 
jealousy,  she  ran  to  her  rival  and  seized  her  hands. 


WHAT  WOMAN  WISHES,  GOD  WISHES.  205 

"Saved?"  said  she. 

Suzanne  shook  her  head.    Genevieve  let  fall  her  arms. 

"What!  madame,  the  king  himself " 

"The  king  is  the  king,"  said  Suzanne,  with  a  poignant 
expression,  "he  is  egotism  crowned.  He  has  made  a  buck- 
ler of  reasons  of  state.  I  have  wept  on  my  knees,  and 
here  I  am." 

"Lost!  my  God!  lost!"  exclaimed  Genevieve. 

"Not  yet;  so  long  as  I  live  I  hope." 

Genevieve,  astonished  at  this  firm  and  resolute  language, 
looked  at  Suzanne. 

"Oh!"  continued  the  young  widow,  "I  am  no  longer  the 
woman  you  saw  at  Compiegne.  I  can  love  him  without 
fear  now,  and  risk  everything  to  save  him.  I  will  stake 
my  fortune  and  my  life  to  do  so." 

"You  do  not  know  Monsieur  de  Louvois!"  said  Madame 
de  Chateaufort,  gnawed  by  despair. 

"I  know  what  an  honest  and  determined  heart  can  do. 
He  hates  him,  I  love  him;  we  shall  see." 

Genevieve  stifled  a  sigh. 

"Try,  madame;  I  will  do  all  that  I  can  to  aid  you." 

Suzanne  having  asked  her  what  had  transpired  since  the 
day  of  imprisonment,  Genevieve  related  to  her  all  that  she 
knew  and  all  that  she  had  attempted.  At  the  recital  of  the 
tortures  inflicted  on  Belle-Rose,  Suzanne  shivered. 

"Louis  XIV.  is  King  of  France,  and  this  is  what  he  per- 
mits?" she  exclaimed,  with  horror. 

They  were  still  together  when  a  lackey  came  to  warn 
the  duchess  that  a  man  was  at  the  door,  insisting  on  being 
introduced  into  her  presence. 

"Who  is  this  man?"  said  she. 

"He  says  his  name  is  Deroute,"  replied  the  lackey. 

"Let  him  enter  at  once,"  said  Suzanne. 

"What  do  you  know  and  what  do  you  want?"  said 
Madame  de  Chateaufort,  when  Deroute  had  been  intro- 
duced. 

"I  know  that  my  lieutenant  is  in  prison,  and  I  wish  him 
free,"  replied  the  honest  sergeant. 

"Well,"  said  Suzanne,  "it  is  necessary  to  aid  him  to  es- 
cape." 

"From  the  Bastile?  Eh!  madame,  it  would  be  as  easy 
to  draw  one  of  the  damned  from  the  claws  of  the  devil ! 
There  are  sentinels  at  every  door,  doors  in  all  the  passages, 
and  turnkeys  everywhere.  The  walls  are  one  hundred 
and  twenty  feet  high,  the  ditches  twenty  feet  deep,  and  I 


206  WHAT  WOMAN  WISHES,  GOD  WISHES. 

do  not  know  a  hole  -where  there  are  not  bars  as  large  as 
the  arm." 

"Nevertheless  there  is  no  dungeon,  no  fortress,  no  cita- 
del from  which  one  cannot  leave.  Nothing  is  impossible  to 
the  will." 

"Nothing,  when  it  is  aided  by  time.  You  do  not  know, 
then,  whab  it  is  to  escape  from  a  prison  of  state?  It  is 
necessary  to  meditate  it  in  the  shadow,  to  deceive  a  thou- 
sand looks,  to  watch  for  the  propitious  hour,  to  leave 
nothing  to  accident.  It  is  the  work  of  patience.  It  calls 
for  years,  and  when  one  succeeds,  it  sometimes  happens 
that  the  prisoner  has  white  hair.  Do  you  wish  to  wait, 
madam  e?" 

"Oh,  that  would  be  to  die!"  exclaimed  Suzanne. 

"My  God!  what  must  we  do?"  said  Genevieve. 

"Draw  him  from  the  Bastile  with  an  order  from  the 
minister,"  added  the  sergeant. 

"He  will  never  grant  it!"  said  both  women  at  the  same 
time. 

"Oh,  I  understand  myself.  There  are  other  prisons  in 
France,  small  Bastiles  scattered  here  and  there  in  the 
provinces.  Only  obtain  his  transfer  to  one  of  them,  and  I 
charge  myself  with  the  rest. " 

"What  do  you  mean?"  asked  Suzanne. 

"I  have  my  plan.  During  the  twenty-four  hours  I  have 
been  at  Paris  I  have  gone  in  all  directions.  When  a  man 
has  been  a  soldier  for  ten  or  twelve  jrears,  he  has  comrades 
everywhere.  Corporal  Grippard,  who  has  come  into  a 
small  heritage,  is  here  with  four  or  five  old  sappers  who 
are  ready  for  anything.  The  Irishman  is  like  a  madman," 

"But,"  said  Genevieve,  "it  will  be  a  battle." 

"Bless  me!"  said  the  sergeant,  "if  the  balls  fly,  we  shall 
endeavor  to  avoid  them." 

"Well,  I  will  get  that  order!"  exclaimed  Suzanne.  "Go 
and  prepare  everything." 

"All  right,  but  I  still  need  something." 

"What?" 

"Gold." 

"I  have  my  diamonds!"  exclaimed  the  duchess. 

"Good!  yellow  pieces  can  be  made  of  those  little  white 
stones." 

Madame  d'Albergotti  was  making  for  the  door,  when 
Deroute  stopped  her. 

"Do  you  know  a  means  of  getting  a  warning  to  our  lieu- 
tenant?" he  asked  her. 

"I  have  it,"  said  Genevieve.     "A  turnkey  who  has  been 


WHAT  WOMAN  WISHES,  GOD  WISHES.  207 

in  my  father's  service  has  already  consented  to  place  a 
note  in  Belle-Rose's  possession,  providing  he  is  paid  for  it." 

"Recommend  him,  madame,  to  go  to  bed.  This  note  will 
give  him  a  little  courage,  and  his  feigned  malady  will 
facilitate  the  obtaining  of  the  order  for  changing  his 
prison." 

Suzanne  already  held  a  pen  in  her  hand ;  she  promptly 
wrote  some  words.  We  have  seen  how  Belle-Rose  received 
them.  The  same  day  Suzanne  presented  herself  at  Mon- 
sieur de  Louvois'.  Monsieur  d'Albergotti's  widow  was  im- 
mediately introduced ;  but  at  the  name  of  Belle-Rose  the 
minister  frowned. 

"It  is  a  strange  persistence,"  said  he;  "it  seems  to  me 
that  I  have  already  refused  to  set  him  at  liberty." 

"Therefore  it  is  not  that  which  I  come  to  solicit  from 
your  clemency. ' ' 

"What  is  it,  then?" 

"The  order  of  placing  Belle-Rose  in  a  prison  in  which  he 
can  receive  the  consolation  and  aid  which  his  state  of 
health  call  for." 

"Ah!  he  is  sick,  then?" 

"Did  not  the  order  to  apply  the  question  to  him  come 
from  you,  rnonseigneur?"  replied  Suzanne. 

"But  what  powerful  interest  induces  you  to  work  in 
favor  of  this  prisoner?"  interrupted  Monsieur  de  Louvois. 

"lam  his  fiancee,"  replied  Suzanne,  who  blushed,  but 
did  not  lower  her  eyes. 

Monsieur  de  Louvois  bowed. 

"Let  your  will  be  done!"  said  he,  writing  some  words 
upon  a  printed  order,  whose  blanks  alone  required  filling 
up. 

Monsieur  de  Louvois  rang  a  bell ;  an  usher  presented 
himself,  he  handed  the  order  to  him  and  arose. 

"Belle-Rose  will  be  transported*  to  the  citadel  of  Cha- 
lons," said  he;  "you  will  be  permitted  to  see  him.  After 
the  crime  of  which  he  has  rendered  himself  guilty,  it  is  all 
that  I  can  do  for  him,  and  I  would  not  have  done  it  had 
you  not  been  his  betrothed." 

Deroute  had  lost  no  time.  The  men  whom  he  had  asso- 
ciated with  him  were  only  waiting  for  a  signal  to  act,  and 
following  the  advice  which  he  had  received  from  Madame 
d'Albergotti,  he  hold  himself  in  readiness.  The  next  day, 
at  nightfall,  the  lieutenant  of  the  Bastile  entered  Belle- 
Rose's  room  and  told  him  that  an  order  of  the  minister 
sent  him  to  the  citadel  of  Chalons, 

"A  post-chaise  will  take  you,"  he  said  to  him. 


208  WHAT  WOMAN  WISHES,  GOD  WISHES. 

Belle-Rose  got  up  and  dressed.  An  officer  was  -waiting 
for  him  outside  the  somber  fortress ;  near  him  were  two 
soldiers  of  the  mounted  police.  The  postilion  was  in  the 
saddle.  The  officer  was  the  same  one  who  had  arrested 
him  in  the  Rue  du  Pot-de-Fer  St.  Sulpice,  at  Monsieur 
Meriset's.  One  of  the  guards  was  Bouletord.  The  ex- 
cannoneer  saluted  Belle-Rose  with  a  smile. 

"We  have  played  quits  or  double,  and  I  have  won,"  he 
said  to  him. 

Belle-Rose  was  passing  without  replying,  when,  raising 
his  eyes,  he  saw  on  horseback,  in  the  costume  of  a  pos- 
tilion, the  honest  Deroute,  who  was  cracking  his  whip  and 
had  just  raised  a  bandage  which  he  had  applied  to  his  face 
so  as  not  to  be  recognized.  A  cry  of  surprise  came  near 
bursting  from  the  lips  of  the  prisoner,  but  the  sergeant 
placed  a  finger  upon  his  lips,  and  Belle-Rose  leaped  upon 
the  step  of  the  carriage. 

"Ehl"  said  he  to  Bouletord,  "it  is  another  game  which 
begins." 

The  officer  sat  down  beside  Belle-Rose.  The  two  guards 
placed  themselves  upon  the  front  seat,  and  Deroute  bran- 
dished his  whip. 

"Eh!  comrades, "he  exclaimed,  "pass your  arms  through 
the  straps,  the  road  is  bad,  there  will  be  some  jolting." 

"What  the  devil  is  he  talking  about?"  murmured  the 
officer;  "the  road  is  smooth  as  a  floor,  and  it  has  not 
rained  for  a  month." 

Belle-Rose  said  nothing  and  passed  his  arm  through  a 
strap,  which  he  clasped  tightly.  Evidently  the  advice  was 
for  him.  The  duchess'  gold  had  done  wonders.  Deroute 
had  made  drunk  ten  postilions  before  discovering  the  one 
who  was  to  drive  the  prisoner's  chaise.  As  to  this  one,  he 
had  not  been  able  to  resist  the  offer  of  a  purse  in  which 
the  louis  shone  between  the  silken  meshes.  His  philosophy 
had  deemed  that  a  blue  vest  laced  with  silver,  a  pair  of 
buckskin  pants,  great  boots,  and  the  honor  of  driving  a 
prisoner  of  state  were  not  worth  two  thousand  livres. 
The  carriage  set  out  in  the  direction  of  the  Barriere 
d'Enfer;  at  some  leagues  from  there,  slightly  beyond 
Villejuif,  an  obstacle  forced  the  carriage  to  stop.  A  tree 
had  fallen  upon  one  side  of  the  road ;  on  the  other  side  was 
an  immovable  wagon. 

"Eh,  man  with  the  wagon!"  cried  Deroute,  "make  way 
for  the  servants  of  the  king. ' ' 

The  man  with  the  chariot  poked  his  head  out  of  the  hay, 
gaped,  stretched  out  his  arms,  and  went  to  sleep  again. 


WHAT  WOMAN  WISHES,  GOD  WISHES.  209 

Deroute  let  fly  his  whip  at  him,  hut  the  lash  struck  the 
hay  three  feet  from  the  sleeper. 

"Eh,  monsieur  officer!"  said  Deroute,  "here  is  a  terrible 
sleeper  who  bars  the  way.  Ask  one  of  your  brave  men  to 
pull  his  ears  for  him." 

The  officer  opened  the  portiere,  and  Bouletord  jumped 
into  the  road.  He  began  by  pulling  the  wagon,  which 
rolled  slowly  forward ;  but  the  sleeper,  awakened  by  the 
shock,  descended  from  his  hay  and  ran  to  Bouletord,  who 
immediately  grabbed  him  by  the  collar.  Unfortunately 
the  man  with  the  wagon  was  not  of  a  disposition  to  sur- 
render without  resistance ;  he  answered  by  such  a  vigor- 
ous blow  of  the  fist  that  Bouletord  rolled  over  on  the 
ground.  Immediately  Deroute  urged  on  his  horses  with  so 
rauch  skill  that  the  wheel  struck  a  tree,  and  the  carriage 
overturned  on  the  side  where  the  officer  was  sitting,  of 
whom  Belle-Rose  made  a  stepping-stone  for  leaving  the 
vehicle.  Four  or  five  men,  who  seemed  to  spring  up  from 
the  earth,  rushed  to  the  road  and  ran  to  the  carriage  as  if 
to  aid  Deroute  to  arise.  In  the  midst  of  the  commotion 
into  which  this  fall  had  thrown  the  officer,  neither  he  nor 
his  comrade  thought  of  the  possibility  of  an  ambuscade. 
The  new-comers  had  the  appearance  of  honest  men  who 
only  asked  to  aid  them ;  but  the  officer  and  the  guard, 
drawn  from  the  chaise  by  their  assistance,  were  imme- 
diately gagged  and  bound.  As  to  Belle-Rose,  he  aided 
Cornelius — who  was  no  other  than  the  man  with  the 
chariot — to  overcome  Bouletord. 

"Let  us  be  wise,"  said  Belle-Rose  to  the  ex-cannoneer, 
who,  bruised  by  the  blows  which  he  had  received,  waa 
foaming  with  rage  in  a  rut ;  "it  is  another  game  which  I 
win." 

When  the  officer  and  the  two  guards  were  unable  to  de- 
fend themselves,  Deroute  and  his  comrades  set  to  work  to 
right  the  carriage. 

"This  is  what  they  call  carrying  a  town  without  firing  a 
gun,"  said  the  sergeant. 

Cornelius  cut  the  traces  of  the  horses  who  were  relieved 
of  their  harness ;  he  leaped  upon  one  of  them  and  led  the 
two  others  to  Belle-Rose  and  the  sergeant. 

"One  minute,"  said  Deroute,"  these  gentlemen  may 
catch  a  cold  if  we  leave  them  in  the  road.  The  night  is 
somewhat  cool. " 

Aided  by  his  comrades,  he  carried  the  officer  and  the 
guards  to  the  carriage,  locked  the  doors,  and  withdrew 
after  having  saluted  them  politely. 


210  WHAT  WOMAN  WISHES,  GOD  WISHES. 

"Quick  now,  and  you,  make  haste!1'  saidhetoGrippard's 
companions,  who  betook  themselves  to  the  fields. 

Deroute  rode  rapidly  along  a  little  path,  in  which  he 
was  followed  by  Belle-Rose  and  Cornelius.  At  the  end  of 
a  quarter  of  an  hour  the  cavaliers  perceived  the  sharp- 
pointed  arrow  of  a  chapel  which  was  outlined  in  black 
upon  a  clear  sky. 

"A  dig  of  the  spur,  and  we  are  there,"  said  the  sergeant. 

At  the  door  of  this  chapel  two  women  were  waiting,  im- 
movable and  full  of  anxiety. 

"This  is  the  hour,  and  I  hear  nothing  yet,"  said  one  of 
them. 

"My  God!"  said  the  other,  "save  him,  and  let  me  die." 

Each  of  them  heard  the  pulsations  of  her  heart ;  their 
eyes  did  not  quit  the  path  except  to  turn  toward  heaven. 

In  the  chapel  a  priest  was  praying  near  an  altar.  Sud- 
denly the  echoing  gallop  of  several  horses  was  heard.  The 
two  women  sought  to  pierce  the  darkness  with  their  eyes ; 
soon  they  perceived  three  cavaliers,  and  recognized  the 
one  who  galloped  at  the  head. 

"Saved!"  they  exclaimed,  and  by  a  spontaneous  move- 
ment they  threw  themselves  into  each  other's  arms. 

Presently  the  three  cavaliers  arrived;  Genevieve 
snatched  herself  from  Suzanne's  arms. 

"Farewell!"  said  she;  "be  blessed,  madame,  you  who 
have  saved  him." 

Suzanne  wished  to  detain  Genevieve;  so  much  resigna- 
tion mixed  with  such  a  profound  grief  touched  her. 

"Let  me  go,  madame,"  said  Genevieve,  in  a  dying  voice; 
"he  loves  you,  be  happy." 

She  entered  the  chapel  and  made  some  steps ;  but,  over- 
come  by  suffering,  she  fell  upon  her  knees  behind  a  pillow. 
Belle-Rose  leaped  from  his  horse  and  found  himself  in  the 
arms  of  Suzanne. 

"Free!  both  of  us  free!"  she  whispered  to  him. 

Belle-Rose  pressed  her  to  his  heart  and  glued  his  lips  to 
her  chaste  forehead.  But  already  Deroute  and  Cornelius 
had  gone  behind  the  chapel  to  get  some  English  horses  of 
which  the  Irishman  knew  the  speed. 

"To  horse,"  said  the  sergeant,  "each  word  robs  us  of  a 
league." 

"Yes,  Jacques,  fly,"  added  Suzanne. 

"Me,  fly!"  said  Belle-Rose;  "I  am  going  to  the  camp." 

"Ah!"  said  Deroute,  "it  would  be  shorter  then  to  return 
to  the  Bastile." 

"But  I  shall  be  heard,  I  shall  be  judged!" 


A  SCENE  UPON  THE  OCEAN.  211 

"And  be  shot,"  interrupted  Deroute;  "however,  if  it  is 
your  idea,  leave,  I  follow." 

Cornelius  intervened;  but  Belle-Rose  would  not  have 
yielded  if  Suzanne  had  not  implored  him  to  fly  for  the 
love  of  her.  Then  she  entered  her  carriage,  and  took  the 
road  to  Paris 

Meanwhile  Genevieve  had  remained  kneeling  in  the 
shadow  of  the  pillar;  she  was  praying  with  hands 
clasped.  At  this  moment  the  gallop  of  several  horses  was 
heard  as  they  moved  rapidly  away.  Genevieve  concealed 
her  head  between  her  hands. 

"Lost!  my  God!  lost!"  said  she,  and  made  her  way  to 
her  carriage. 

"Where  must  I  take  you,  madame?"  asked  the  coach- 
man. 

"To  the  Carmelites!"  answered  Genevieve. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

A  SCENE  UPON  THE  OCEAN. 

At  the  moment  when,  thanks  to  the  intervention  of  De- 
route  and  Cornelius,  Belle-Rose  was  quitting  Villejuif, 
eleven  o'clock  struck  at  the  neighboring  convent.  They 
fled  like  bullets,  glued  to  the  saddles  of  their  horses. 
Deroute  slapped  his  fingers  against  the  palms  of  his  hands 
imitating  the  noise  of  castanets.  It  was  a  habit  he  had 
contracted  on  seeing  some  Spaniards  dance  in  Flanders, 
and  which  was  a  demonstration  of  his  joy.  The  honest 
fellow,  who  rarely  smiled,  had  a  face  expanded  like  a 
tulip ;  but  all  his  gayety  fell  on  learning  that  they  were 
going  to  England. 

"To  England !"  said  he.  "Why  the  devil  are  we  going  to 
England?" 

'But,"  said  Cornelius,  "I  have  friends  over  there." 
'Are  your  friends  English?" 
'And  what  the  devil  do  you  wish  them  to  be?" 
'I  should  prefer  them  to  be  something  else." 
'Hello,   comrade!"  exclaimed  Belle-Rose,  "you  forget 
the  nationality  of  Cornelius." 

"No'  Monsieur  O'Brien  is  from  Ireland,  and  Ireland  is 
a  French  country  which  the  good  God,  through  mistake, 
let  fall  into  the  sea.  That  is  a  point  in  geography  which  I 
will  sustain  against  all  the  world.  Let  us  go  to  Spain." 


212  A  SCENE  UPON  THE  OCEAN. 

'It  is  too  far." 
'Let  us  go  to  Lorraine." 
'It  is  too  close." 
'Then  let  us  go  to  Flanders. " 

'It  is  a  sure  means  of  falling  again  into  the  claws  of 
Monsieur  de  Louvois." 

Deroute  did  not  consider  himself  beaten  and  was  going 
to  propose  Holland  when  Belle-Rose  stopped  him. 

"Ah!"  he  said  to  him,  "what  evil  has  England  done 
you?" 

"None." 

"Then  what  objections  have  you  to  going  to  England?" 

Deroute  was  short  of  reasons;  but  when  Belle- Rose  was 
no  longer  looking  at  him  he  scratched  his  ear  and  mur- 
mured, in  a  low  tone : 

"All  the  same,  I  do  not  like  England." 

Cornelius  had  tied  to  the  croup  of  their  horses  some  uni- 
forms, which  the  three  cavaliers  put  on  at  the  first  wood 
they  came  to  upon  their  route. 

"We  shall  be  taken  for  gentlemen  going  on  a  mission," 
said  he,  buttoning  up  his  coat. 

"It  will  not  be  believed,"  said  Deroute,  "that  those  who 
escape  travel  under  the  dress  of  those  who  pursue." 

And  urging  on  his  horse,  he  threw  himself  in  front  like 
an  outrider.  They  traveled  thus  during  three  or  four  re- 
lays. The  gold  which  Madame  de  Chateaufort  had  ob- 
tained for  her  diamonds  brushed  aside  every  difficulty. 
At  Noailles  Belle-Rose's  horse  made  a  start  to  one  side  and 
fell.  Deroute  leaped  down,  but  Belle-Rose  had  already 
risen. 

"Eh,  captain,  you  are  not  hurt?"  exclaimed  the  ser- 
geant. 

"No,  but  the  horse  seems  to  be  limping." 

Deroute  examined  the  animal's  legs. 

"He  has  left  two  inches  of  flesh  upon  the  the  king's 
highway,"  said  he,  "you  will  have  to  make  a  league  or 
two  on  foot." 

"Eh,  but,"  said  Belle-Rose,  addressing  himself  to  De- 
route,  "how  pale  you  are  yourself." 

The  sergeant  stamped  the  ground  violently. 

"Hold,"  he  murmured,  "you  may  ridicule  me  as  much 
as  you  please,  but  your  fall  has  stopped  my  blood  from 
circulating.  Some  misfortune  is  going  to  happen  to  us." 

"What  is  it  that  you  expect?"  said  Cornelius. 

"Faith,  monsieur,  when  England  is  in  front  of  one  and 


A  SCENE  UPON  THE  OCEAN.  213 

the  king's  men  behind  one,  one  has  indeed  the  right  to 
tremble  a  little.  It  is  a  presentiment  which  I  have." 

Belle-Rose,  who  was  readjusting  his  saddle,  shrugged 
his  shoulders. 

A  little  more  than  half  the  distance  had  been  crossed, 
when,  on  reaching  Nouvion,  Cornelius'  horse  stumbled 
against  a  stone  and  fell  down.  At  this  place  the  road  was 
rough;  the  Irishman  bruised  his  hands  and  knees-  he 
wished  to  rise  and  could  not  make  a  step;  he  had  a 
sprained  ankle.  Deroute  pulled  out  a  handful  of  hair. 

"You  were  right,  my  poor  friend,"  Cornelius  said  to 
him,  "the  misfortune  has  come  to  pass." 

"Please  God  that  it  is  the  only  one!"  said  the  sergeant, 
looking  in  the  direction  of  Paris. 

Nevertheless,  as  Deroute  was  a  man  who  had  a  practical 
philosophy  over  which  presentiments  had  no  influence,  he 
did  his  best  to  assist  Cornelius  to  remount  his  horse,  and 
they  pushed  on  as  far  as  Bernay.  The  innkeeper  of  the 
place  possessed  an  old  carriage.  The  carriage  was  not  so 
bad  as  it  looked,  but  their  progress  was  less  rapid.  At 
Cormont,  as  they  arrived  at  the  summit  of  a  hill,  Deroute, 
who  was  always  looking  behind  him,  saw  in  the  distance 
a  whirlwind  of  dust ;  a  flash  of  light  came  at  times  from 
this  whirlwind.  A  gust  of  wind  suddenly  swept  the  road. 
Deroute  rose  in  his  stirrups,  and  shading  his  eyes  with  his 
hand,  lie  threw  a  rapid  glance  over  the  group  of  cavaliers 
who  had  just  been  unmasked.  In  a  second  Deroute  was  at 
the  carriage  door. 

"Bouletord  is  coming,"  said  he,  in  his  tranquil  voice. 

Belle-Rose  grabbed  his  pistols. 

"Drop  those  playthings,"  said  Deroute;  "they  would 
only  serve  to  get  us  killed  the  more  quickly.  If  we  were 
on  horseback,  we  might  try  them ;  but  in  a  carriage,  it 
should  be  a  different  method." 

"Better  to  be  killed  than  retaken!"  exclaimed  Belle- 
Rose. 

"Better  still  to  be  saved." 

"What  do  you  wish  to  do?" 

"You  are  going  to  see." 

Deroute  ran  to  the  horses  drawing  the  carriage  and  led 
them  into  an  untraveled  road,  taking  care  to  turn  their 
heads  in  the  direction  of  Bouletord.  A  cut  of  the  whip 
made  them  leap  upon  a  declivity,  against  which  the  car- 
riage overturned. 

"Good!"  said  he,  "we  are  now  going  to  throw  ourselves 
behind  this  wall,  the  captain  and  myself.  As  to  you,  the 


214  A  SCENE  UPON  THE  OCEAN. 

gentleman  from  Ireland,  whom  Bouletord  does  not  know," 
he  added,  turning  to  Cornelius,  "you  will  run  to  the  police 
and  ask  them  to  come  to  your  aid.  It  is  sufficient  to  ask 
them  to  be  sure  that  they  will  do  nothing.  Quick,  they 
are  coming!" 

All  this  had  taken  less  time  in  the  doing  than  it  has 
taken  in  the  narrating.  Belle-Rose  and  Deroute  squatted 
behind  the  wall,  and  Cornelius,  who  had  grasped  the 
sergeant's  idea,  ran  toward  Bouletord.  The  police  came 
up  at  a  gallop,  Bouletord  at  the  head.  His  face  was  red 
and  his  eye  inflamed. 

"Hey!  monsieur,"  exclaimed  Cornelius,  as  soon  as  he 
was  in  hearing  distance,  "an  awkward  postilion  has  just 
overthrown  my  carriage.  Can  you  not  aid  me  to  raise  it?" 

Bouletord  looked  in  the  direction  of  the  carriage,  The 
horses  had  their  heads  turned  in  his  direction ;  he  had  no 
suspicion. 

"We  shall  see  on  returning,  my  gentleman, "  said  he; 
and  he  passed  like  a  thunderbolt  with  his  men. 

Belle-Rose  and  Deroute  leaped  from  their  hiding-place. 
Deroute  laughed  with  all  his  heart. 

"Decidedly,"  said  he,  "this  poor  Bouletord  is  not  made 
for  the  trade  he  exercises;  he  is  a  lamb." 

"Let  us  push  on,"  said  Cornelius. 

"No.  If  Bouletord  is  a  lamb  as  regards  intelligence,  this 
lamb  has  ears.  At  the  next  relay,  they  will  tell  him  that 
they  have  seen  neither  carriage  nor  cavalier,  he  will  turn 
back,  and  he  will  surprise  us  in  the  very  middle  of  the 
road;  it  would  be  a  bad  ending  for  a  good  beginning." 

"Deroute  is  right,"  said  Belle-Rose;  "let  us  permit 
Bouletord  to  keep  on  and  let  us  take  to  the  left." 

Now,  after  the  escape  of  Belle-Rose  in  the  environs  of 
Villejuif,  this  is  what  had  happened :  The  reader  knows 
that  the  police  officer  and  his  two  acolytes  had  remained 
in  the  carriage,  the  doors  of  which  had  been  carefully 
locked.  Two  or  three  hours  after,  some  market-gardeners 
passing  along  the  road  heard  groans  coming  from  this 
abandoned  carriage;  they  broke  in  the  panels  and  de- 
livered the  prisoners.  Bouletord,  mad  with  anger,  imme- 
diately asked  the  officer  if  he  was  not  going  to  set  out  in 
pursuit  of  the  fugitives.  The  officer,  stupefied  by  the  ad- 
venture, could  hardly  make  answer;  it  was  necessary  to 
see,  to  wait,  to  inform  one's  self.  Bouletord  manifested  a 
keen  impatience. 

"Well!"  said  he  to  the  officer,  "give  me  your  commis- 
sion and  I  will  go  alone." 


A  SCENE  UPON  THE  OCEAN.  215 

The  officer  drew  his  commission  from  his  pocket;  Boule- 
tord  snatched  it  from  him  and  took  his  departure. 
Bouletord  knew  Monsieur  de  Louvois  by  reputation ;  with 
such  a  minister  success  was  a  sure  passport  to  approval. 
At  the  moment  of  the  flight,  Bouletord  had  remarked  the 
direction  which  Belle-Rose  and  his  friends  had  followed. 
The  road  they  had  taken  led  to  Ivry.  A  good  woman  who 
was  gathering  grass  for  her  cow  had  seen  three  cavaliers 
flying  in  the  direction  of  St.  Mande.  At  St.  Mande  a  child 
who  was  rohhing  an  orchard  had  heard  the  noise  of  their 
flight  over  the  route  to  Charonne ;  at  Bagnolet  they  had 
stopped  at  a  blacksmith's  who  had  drawn  a  nail  from  a 
horse's  shoe.  Thus,  from  village  to  village,  Bouletord  had 
arrived  upon  the  route  to  St.  Denis. 

"They  are  going  to  England!"  he  said  to  himself. 

The  commission,  signed  by  the  minister  and  sealed  with 
the  seal  of  state,  made  him  obeyed  by  the  police ;  he  took 
men  in  each  city  and  left  them  at  the  next.  The  accident 
which  had  happened  to  Belle-Rose  and  also  to  Cornelius 
caused  him  to  recover  the  ground  which  they  had  gained 
at  first.  At  Cormont,  Bouletord  reached  the  fugitives;  we 
have  seen  how  he  passed  on  by  them.  Belle-Rose  was 
scarcely  three  or  four  leagues  from  the  sea;  the  only  thing 
now  was  to  reach  some  fishing  hamlet  where  they  could 
find  a  bark  in  which  to  cross  the  channel.  The  carriage 
advanced  rapidly.  As  they  reached  the  summit  of  a  hill, 
Cornelius,  who  was  looking  before  him,  exclaimed:  "The 
sea!  the  sea!"  But  at  the  same  moment  Deroute,  who  was 
looking  behind,  exclaimed :  "Bouletord!  Bouletord!"  The 
sea  beat  against  the  shore  at  one  or  two  leagues  from  the 
hill;  Bouletord  was  coming  up  at  full  speed.  Deroute 
leaped  upon  the  horses  and  stopped  them. 

"Quick!  get  out!"  he  exclaimed. 

In  three  strokes  of  the  knife  he  had  cut  the  traces. 
Belle-Rose  and  Cornelius  were  already  in  the  road;  the 
bridles  and  bits  were  all  that  was  left  upon  the  horses,  and 
the  two  officers,  mounting  bareback,  followed  Deroute 
who  was  flying  at  full  speed.  The  sun  was  about  to  set ; 
the  sea  was  rolling  its  golden  waves,  and  on  the  horizon 
were  seen  white  sails  like  wings  of  birds;  in  the  distance 
roared  the  great  billows  which  beat  against  the  coast. 
Turn  by  turn  the  fugitives  looked  at  the  sea,  where  their 
safety  lay,  and  at  Bouletord  in  hot  pursuit  of  them. 
Bouletord  had  seen  the  carriage ;  the  action  of  the  travel- 
ers had  caused  them  to  be  recognized ;  just  as  Belle-Rose 
and  Cornelius  were  leaving  at  a  gallop,  a  cry  of  rage  burst 


216  A  SCENE  UPON  THE  OCEAN. 

from  the  brigadier's  lips ;  he  plunged  his  bloody  spurs  into 
his  horse's  sides  and  passed  beyond  his  whole  troop  at 
a  bound.  It  was  a  wild  and  furious  race.  The  foarn  flew 
from  the  red  nostrils  of  the  horses;  their  flanks  were 
stained  with  drops  of  blood;  Belle-Rose  and  Cornelius 
pricked  them  with  the  points  of  their  swords ;  Bouletord 
flew  like  a  stone  hurled  from  a  sling.  But  Belle-Rose  and 
Cornelius  were  some  distance  ahead,  and  Deroute,  who 
preceded  them  by  a  hundred  steps,  was  shortening  the 
space  which  separated  him  from  the  sea.  The  pursuit  had 
lasted  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  and  the  horses  were  grad- 
ually weakening,  when  on  turning  a  hillock,  at  the  foot  of 
which  a  road  passed,  they  saw  the  sea  laving  with  its 
waves  the  gray  sand.  Deroute  applied  the  whip  to  his 
horse  and  arrived  like  a  thunderbolt  upon  the  shore.  A 
floating  bark,  raised  by  the  mounting  tide,  was  balanced 
upon  the  crest  of  the  waves. 

"Whose  bark?"  said  he,  on  setting  foot  upon  the  shore. 

"Mine!"  said  an  old  fisherman  wearing  a  brown  cloak. 

"Open  your  sail  to  the  wind;  here  are  two  gentlemen 
who  are  being  pursued.  Do  you  wish  to  save  them?" 

The  old  sailor  and  his  son  leaped  into  the  bark  and  cut  it 
loose.  Belle-Rose  and  Cornelius,  carried  on  by  the  impulse 
of  their  speed,  plunged  into  the  water  which  splashed 
around  their  horses.  In  a  bound  they  threw  themselves 
into  the  bark ;  the  sail  swelled  under  the  evening  wind, 
the  prow  turned  toward  the  open  sea,  and  the  boat  floated 
lightly  over  the  waves.  At  this  moment  Bouletord  reached 
the  shore  and  looked  around  him ;  no  bark  was  there.  His 
men  surrounded  him;  Bouletord  saw  a  musket  in  the 
hands  of  one  of  them,  snatched  it  from  him,  and  directed 
it  at  the  fugitive  boat.  The  black  silhouette  of  the  three 
passengers  was  outlined  upon  the  horizon,  where  the  sun 
had  just  disappeared  like  a  king  in  a  bed  of  purple  and  of 
gold.  The  gun  remained  immovable  for  a  moment  as  if  it 
had  been  sustained  by  a  marble  hand,  then  there  was  a 
flash  of  light  and  the  lead  whistled.  A  cry  came  from  the 
bark,  and  one  of  the  three  shadows  fell  with  outspread 
arms.  A  smile  of  feverish  joy  illuminated  Bouletord's 
face. 

"This  time  I  have  not  lost  everything,"  said  he. 

Belle-Rose  was  extended  at  the  bottom  of  the  boat ;  the 
ball  had  entered  slightly  above  his  right  breast.  Cornelius, 
paler  than  the  wounded  man,  had  thrown  himself  on  his 
knees  beside  him  and  was  seeking  to  stanch  the  flow  of 
blood.  Deroute  said  nothing ;  his  countenance  was  mourn- 


THE  DARK  SIDE  OF  THE  PICTURE.  217 

ful.  He  looked  at  Belle-Rose  with  a  frightened  air ;  then 
all  at  once,  leaning  over  him,  he  touched  the  wound  with 
his  convulsive  fingers. 

When  his  hand  was  reddened  he  arose,  and  shaking  the 
dripping  blood  in  the  direction  of  Bouletord,  he  exclaimed, 
in  a  terrible  voice: 

"Blood  shall  pay  for  blood!" 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

THE  DARK  SIDE  OF  THE  PICTURE. 

After  having  seen  Belle-Rose  take,  in  company  with 
Deroute  and  Cornelius,  the  road  to  England,  Suzanne  had 
directed  her  course  toward  Paris.  She  felt  certain  of  bring- 
ing Monsieur  de  Louvois  to  better  sentiments  in  respect  to 
Belle-Rose,  felt  certain  of  obtaining,  not  his  pardon — since 
he  was  not  guilty — but  his  justification,  and  all  along  the 
route  she  created  a  thousand  gilded  chimeras  which  re- 
called to  her  the  girlish  hopes  which  had  so  often  intoxi- 
cated her  in  the  park  of  Malzonvilliers.  When  she  entered 
her  hotel  in  the  Rue  de  FOseille,  Claudine,  who  was  im- 
patiently waiting  for  her,  seeing  her  so  radiant,  threw 
herself  into  her  arms.  The  two  friends  embraced  each 
other,  and  during  the  night  they  had  interminable  conver- 
sations filled  with  innumerable  air  castles.  The  morning 
surprised  them  as  they  were  still  occupied  in  these  sweet 
dreams,  when  all  at  once  the  heavy  hammer  of  the  door 
fell  upon  the  iron  button.  The  two  friends  trembled  and 
clasped  each  other  close.  A  lackey  came  to  warn  Madame 
d'Albergotti  that  an  officer  of  Monsieur  de  Louvois'  house- 
hold was  below  who  asked  the  privilege  of  speaking  to 
her.  Suzanne  and  Claudine  grew  pale,  above  all  Claudine, 
for  whom  the  name  of  minister  was  the  symbol  of  inexor- 
able power  and  obstinate  vengeance.  But  Suzanne  pressed 
her  hand. 

"Monsieur  de  Louvois  knows  everything,  but  Belle-Rose 
is  out  of  reach.  Stand  up,  Claudine,  and  let  us  show  this 
officer  that  the  fiancee  and  sister  of  an  officer  have  no 
fear." 

Monsieur  de  Louvois'  envoy  was  introduced  and  re- 
quested Madame  d'Albergotti  to  follow  him  at  once  to  his 
master's. 

"It  is  for  an  affair,"  said  he,  "which  suffers  no  delay." 


218  THE  DARK  SIDE  OF  THE  PICTURE. 

"I  have  an  idea  of  what  it  is, "  Suzanne  answered  him, 
"and  I  am  ready  to  follow  you." 

A  carriage  was  at  the  door  hearing  the  arms  of  Monsieur 
de  Louvois.  Suzanne  took  her  seat  within  and  the  coachman 
drove  away.  The  horses  went  at  a  pace  to  prove  that  the 
orders  of  the  Secretary  of  State  were  precise.  They  ar- 
rived at  the  minister's  hotel  in  five  minutes;  the  officer 
showed  Madame  d'Albergotti  to  Monsieur  de  Louvois' 
apartment  and  announced  her.  Monsieur  de  Louvois  was 
pacing  his  room  with  contracted  lips  and  sparkling  eyes ; 
he  stopped  from  time  to  time  before  the  chimney  to  drink 
at  pleasure  from  a  great  jugful  of  water,  for  he  had  already 
contracted  that  habit,  which  twenty  years  later  was  to 
cost  him  his  life.  At  Madame  d'Albergotti's  name  he 
turned  quickly  toward  the  door  and  made  three  steps 
toward  the  young  woman. 

"I  have  learned  everything,  madame!"  he  said  to  her. 

"It  is  a  care  with  which  I  intended  to  charge  myself 
during  the  day,"  replied  Suzanne,  "I  regret  that  another 
has  anticipated  me." 

"My  informant  is  the  police  officer  whom  your  accom- 
plices have  bound,  maltreated,  and  imprisoned ;  an  officer 
of  the  king,  madame." 

"When  one  tortures  an  officer  of  the  king,  monseigneur, 
one  can  well  imprison  one  of  the  king's  police,"  said  Su- 
zanne. 

Monsieur  de  Louvois  broke  the  blade  of  a  penknife 
which  he  was  holding  between  his  fingers. 

"This  may  lead  you  farther  than  you  think,  madame," 
said  he. 

"Not  always  farther  than  the  king  knows." 

"The  king  is  in  Flanders,  and  I  am  at  Paris;  the  king  is 
the  king,  and  I  am  his  minister!"  exclaimed  Monsieur  de 
Louvois. 

Suzanne  was  silent;  she  began  to  undarstand  that  her 
action  might  have  results  which  she  had  not  even  sus- 
pected; with  a  minister  like  Monsieur  de  Louvois,  no  one 
was  sheltered  from  his  anger,  neither  the  old  man,  the 
child,  the  weak,  nor  the  powerful.  But  these  dangers 
which  she  now  divined,  Suzanne  would  have  braved 
if  she  had  known  them.  She  resigned  herself,  then,  and 
waited.  Monsieur  de  Louvois  threw  his  penknife  upon  the 
floor. 

"lam  grieved,  madame, "  said  he,  in  a  brusque  tone, 
"but  you  will  have  a  severe  account  to  render  of  all  this." 

"I  am  your  prisoner,  monseigneur." 


THE  DARK  SIDE  OF  THE  PICTURE.  219 

"I  know  it,  and  it  is  an  awkward  action  you  have  com- 
mitted." 

Suzanne  looked  at  the  minister  with  an  astonished  air. 

"Eh,  madame, "  continued  Monsieur  de  Louvois,  "the 
best  thing  you  could  have  done,  since  you  wished  to  de- 
liver Belle-Ilose,  was  to  have  left  with  him." 

"I  am  not  yet  his  wife,  monseigneur. " 

"I  thank  you  for  these  scruples,  madame;  they  have 
served  me  more  than  I  hoped  for.  You  will  take  the  place 
of  Belle-Rose.  The  punishment  must  follow  the  crime." 

"But  of  what  crime  do  you  speak,  monseigneur,  and 
what  crime  have  I  committed,  then?"  exclaimed  Suzanne, 
indignantly.  "I  know  of  but  one  crime  in  all  this,  and 
that  one  was  committed  in  the  Bastile  upon  the  person  of 
an  innocent  officer.  Now  this  officer  is  my  betrothed,  I 
love  him,  and  why  should  I  not  try  to  save  him?  Go, 
monseigneur,  it  is  evident  that  you  have  never  loved,  and 
all  your  power  as  a  minister,  great  though  it  is,  does  not 
go  so  far  as  to  prevent  a  woman  from  devoting  herself!" 

Monsieur  de  Louvois'  countenance  was  frightful  to  see ; 
anger  swelled  in  his  heart  like  a  tempest,  and  he  employed 
all  the  energy  of  his  will  to  repress  it. 

"And  I  will  show  you,"  he  exclaimed,  with  a  terrible 
outburst,  "that  my  power  goes  so  far  as  to  avenge  myself 
on  those  who  dare  brave  me.  No  one  has  ever  done  it  with 
impunity,  madame.  Truly  you  do  not  know  to  whom  you 
speak.  What!  an  officer  of  fortune,  who  is  not  even  a 
gentleman,  has  rebelled  against  my  authority,  has  made 
himself  the  instrument  of  a  man  whom  I  hate,  has 
thwarted  me  in  my  designs,  and  I  shall  not  punish  him ! 
And  you  who  came  to  solicit  his  unmerited  pardon — you 
employ  your  time  in  securing  his  escape,  you  have  tri- 
umphed and  you  come  to  say  similar  things  to  my  face. 
But,  in  truth,  it  is  folly,  madame!" 

Monsieur  de  Louvois  had  risen  and  was  pacing  the 
room.  Suzanne  looked  at  him,  silent  and  resolute. 

"And  do  you  believe,"  resumed  the  minister,  that  if 
Madame  de  Chateaufort  had  not  placed  an  insuperable 
barrier  between  her  and  myself,  I  had  not  punished  her 
like  you,  duchess  though  she  is?  You  have  surrendered 
yourself;  woe  to  you!" 

"You  threaten  me,  monseigneur,  and  I  am  a  woman!" 
said  Suzanne,  tranquilly. 

Monsieur  de  Louvois  bit  his  lip  till  the  blood  came.  He 
sat  down  before  his  table  and  struck  the  papers  which 
were  lying  upon  it. 


220  THE  DARK  SIDE  OF  THE  PICTURE. 

"No,  madame,  I  do  not  threaten,  I  act  You  have  saved 
Belle-Rose;  but  Belle-Rose  is  not  yet  out  of  the  kingdom." 

"He  will  be  out  of  it  to-morrow." 

"That  Is  what  I  expect  Bouletord  to  tell  me." 

At  this  name  Madame  d'Albergotti  grew  slightly  pale. 

"Oh!"  said  the  minister,  "the  police  officer  whom  your 
friends  accommodated  so  well  has  told  me  all.  They  have 
gone,  but  Bouletord  is  upon  their  track.  Let  a  horse  fall, 
and  they  are  lost." 

Suzanne  shivered. 

"Eh!  madame,"  continued  the  pitiless  minister,  "pray 
that  their  horses  may  fall  into  some  hole  if  you  attach  any 
importance  to  your  liberty." 

"Monseigneur,  I  am  only  attached  to  him,"  said  she. 

Monsieur  de  Louvois  rang,  and  an  usher  entered. 

"Go,  madame,  and  await  my  orders,"  said  he;  "and 
you,"  he  added,  addressing  himself  to  the  usher,  "ask 
Monsieur  de  Charny  to  pass  into  my  room." 

Madame  d'Albergotti  arose,  saluted  Monsieur  de  Lou- 
vois, and  went  out,  leaving  the  minister  alone  with  Mon- 
sieur de  Charny,  who  had  just  entered.  This  new-comer 
was  a  little  personage  whose  monkish  face  and  crafty 
glance  inspired  a  sort  of  repugnance  which  one  could  not 
overcome.  Godefroy  Charny,  or  Monsieur  de  Charny,  as 
he  was  commonly  called,  without  any  one  being  able  to 
explain  the  origin  of  his  nobility,  was  the  minister's  ad- 
viser and  favorite.  His  influence  over  Monsieur  de  Louvois 
was  extreme;  it  came  to  him  above  all  from  the  rapidity 
of  his  resolutions  and  the  perseverance  of  his  enmities. 
When  Monsieur  de  Louvois  asked  him  his  opinion,  Mon- 
sieur de  Charny  never  hesitated  and  always  advised  the 
doing  of  the  most  extreme  thing.  Monsieur  de  Charny 
was  nothing  and  was  everything;  he  was  hated  and  he 
was  feared;  no  one  associated  with  him,  but  every  one 
took  care  not  to  offend  him.  Monsieur  de  Charny  dressed 
in  a  very  simple  fashion.  For  the  rest,  polite  and  insinu- 
ating— one  of  those  men  capable  of  killing  without  stain- 
ing their  cuffs  and  with  hat  in  hand. 

"Did  you  see  that  woman  who  went  out  as  you  came 
in?"  Monsieur  de  Louvois  said  to  him. 

"I  saw  her;  she  is  pretty  and  of  distinguished  appear- 
ance. ' ' 

'That  woman  has  braved  me,  and  I  wish  to  punish  her." 

"It  was  sufficient  to  say  to  me,  monseigneur,  that  she 
had  braved  you ;  the  rest  became  useless. ' ' 


THE  DARK  SIDE  OF  THE  PICTURE.  221 

"I  will  probably  charge  you  with  the  care  of  my 
vengeance." 

"I  am  yours,  monseigneur. " 

While  Monsieur  de  Louvois  was  talking  with  Monsieur 
de  Charny,  the  usher  to  whom  Madame  d  Albergotti  had 
been  confided  took  her  to  a  room  in  which  there  was 
already  a  gentleman.  At  sight  cf  a  woman  who  seemed  to 
belong  to  the  court,  the  young  man  arose  from  his  seat. 
Suzanne  looked  at  him,  and  it  appeared  to  her  that  she 
had  seen  this  face  somewhere ;  but  owing  to  the  agitation 
into  which  she  had  been  thrown  by  her  interview  with 
Monsieur  de  Louvois,  she  could  not  recall  either  in  what 
place  or  under  what  circumstances. 

"Eh !  madame  la  marquise,  I  am  glad  to  meet  you,"  ex- 
claimed the  young  gentleman  all  at  once. 

Suzanne  examined  her  interlocutor  more  attentively  and 
finally  recognized  Monsieur  de  Pomereux,  who,  at  the 
time  when  she  was  still  unmarried,  had  passed  some  days 
at  Malzonvilliers.  She  bowed  and  extended  her  hand  to 
Monsieur  de  Pomereux,  who  kissed  it.  Monsieur  de 
Pomereux  was  not  altogether  what  he  was  at  the  epoch 
when  he  had  been  a  suitor  for  Suzanne's  hand.  Upon  his 
face  were  to  be  seen  the  traces  of  a  dissipated  life,  but, 
from  certain  movements  of  his  physiognomy,  it  was  easy 
to  see  that  the  debauchee  could  still  recollect  that  he  was  a 
gentleman. 

"From  what  I  can  see,  you  come  from  Monsieur  de  Lou- 
vois' room,"  said  he,  leading  Madame  d' Albergotti  to  a 
seat. 

"You  are  not  deceived." 

"If  I  can  serve  you  in  any  way,  use  my  credit,  madame; 
I  have  the  honor  to  be  slightly  related  to  Monsieur  da 
Louvois." 

"Well,  monsieur,  your  relative  is  making  preparations 
to  send  me  to  prison." 

"You!"  exclaimed  Monsieur  de  Pomereux,  stupefied. 

"Myself." 

"It  is  impossible!  I  shall  fly  to  the  minister " 

"It  is  useless.  It  appears  that  I  have  committed  a  great 
crime." 

"What  is  it?" 

"I  have  procured  the  escape  of  one  of  my  friends  who 
had  the  honor  to  be  treated  as  a  prisoner  of  state." 

"Diable!"  said  Monsieur  de  Pomereux,  "it  is  an  ugly 
affair." 

"So  it  seems  to  me  now." 


222  THE  DARK   SIDE  OF  THE  PICTURE. 

"Monsieur  de  Louvois  is  not  precisely  tender  on  such 
occasions." 

"Let  us  admit  that  he  is  not  at  all  so." 

"I  willingly  agree  with  you,  and  it  is  precisely  that 
which  disturbs  me.  You  must  keep  out  of  prison, 
madame." 

1  'I  agree  with  what  you  say,  but  that  is  not  the  senti- 
ment of  Monsieur  de  Louvois." 

"So  it  appears,  and  unfortunately  Monsieur  de  Louvois 
is  very  obstinate.  But,  madame,  you  are  not  alone  in  the 
world,  you  have " 

"I  am  a  widow,  monsieur,"  said  Suzanne. 

"A  widow!"  exclaimed  Monsieur  de  Pomereux.  "Faith, 
madame,  it  is  your  fault  if  you  are  one.  But, "  he  hastened 
to  add,  on  seeing  Suzanne  making  ready  to  reply,  "I  have 
no  rancor,  and  I  place  all  the  credit  I  possess  at  your  dis- 
posal." 

Madame  d'Albergotti  was  going  to  reply  when  an  usher 
entered  to  inform  Monsieur  de  Pomereux  that  Monseiur  de 
Louvois  was  expecting  him  in  his  cabinet.  Monsieur  de 
Louvois  was  signing  some  papers  when  Monsieur  de  Pom- 
ereux entered.  Monsieur  de  Charny  had  just  left. 

"Sit  down,"  the  minister  said  to  him;  "I  have  chosen 
you  for  an  important  mission,  and  you  must  leave  at 
once." 

"I  accept  the  mission  and  will  leave  when  you  wish." 

"That  is  how  I  like  to  hear  you  talk." 

"But  you  will  permit  me  to  say  a  few  words  to  you 
about  an  affair  which  concerns  a  lady  in  whom  I  am  much 
interested." 

"fler  name,  if  you  please?" 

"The  Marquise  d'Albergotti." 

"Do  you  know  what  she  has  done?" 

"Perfectly." 

"And  you  have  the  audacity  to  interest  yourself  in  her?" 

"Par bleu!    I  have  come  near  marrying  her." 

Monsieur  de  Louvois  could  not  keep  from  laughing. 

"That  is  a  fine  reason !"  he  exclaimed. 

"Only  her  consent  was  necessary  for  her  to  become  my 
wife." 

"It  would  have  been  so  much  the  worse  for  you." 

"Why?" 

"Because  if  she  had  been  your  wife,  I  hardly  know  what 
you  would  have  been." 

"Hey!" 


THE  DAKK  SIDE  OF  THE  PICTURE.  223 

"Your  protegee,  my  cousin,  is  very  much  in  love  with  a 
certain  scoundrel  named  Belle-Rose. ' ' 

"That  is  romantic!" 

"This  Belle-Rose  was  on  his  wajr  to  the  citadel  of 
Chalons  when  she  procured  his  escape  in  the  direction  of 
Villejuif.  The  police  officer  has  heen  locked  up  in  the  car- 
riage, and  the  prisoners  have  taken  the  horses." 

"That  was  not  so  awkwardly  done." 

"You  think  so!  Well,  I  think  that  so  beautiful  a  feat 
deserves  its  recompense.  I  imprison  the  mistress  until  I 
get  possession  of  the  lover." 

"What  good  will  you  accomplish  by  that?" 

"My  cousin,  I  am  only  a  poor  minister,  but  I  have  every 
reason  to  believe  that  when  he  learns  that  she  is  in  prison, 
he  will  return,  I  shall  entrap  him,  and  we  will  proceed  to 
hang  him." 

"And  I  tell  you  he  will  not  return.  What  kind  of  an 
idea  do  you  possess  of  the  captains  and  marquises  of  this 
time?  The  captain  no  longer  thinks  of  her  now,  and  the 
marquise  will  no  longer  think  of  him  to-morrow." 

"That  is  your  belief." 

"Parbleu!" 

"Then  it  would  not  displease  you  too  much  to  marry 
her." 

"Me!"  said  Monsieur  de  Pomereux,  in  surprise. 

"Yes,  you,  and  to  explain  myself  more  clearly,  would 
you  have,  monsieur,  any  repugnance  to  marry  the  mar- 
quise in  whom  you  are  so  much  interested?" 

"My  faith,  though  marriage  is  a  pitiful  thing,  in  con- 
sideration of  Madame  d'Albergotti,  I  will  commit  this 
folly." 

"And  you  have  no  fear  of  Belle-Rose?" 

"Not  at  all!" 

"Well,  Madame  d'Albergotti's  pardon  is  at  this  price ; 
let  her  marry  you,  and  I  foi-get  her  fault." 

"Agreed!  Madame  d'Albergotti  has  some  fortune,  and  I 
have  always  had  some  taste  for  her." 

"See  to  it,  then,  that  Madame  d'Albergotti  comes  to  a 
decision,  or  she  will  have  to  remain  in  a  convent  the  rest 
of  her  life." 

"She  shall  not  go  to  the  convent." 

"Are  you  quite  sure  of  it?" 

"We  are  no  longer  in  the  time  of  pastorals,  monseig- 
neur. " 

"You  are  going  to  make  a  test  of  the  fact." 

Monsieur  de  Louvois  called  an  usher  and  gave  him  an 


224  A  PROPOSAL  OF  MARRIAGE. 

order  to  go  and  bring  Madame  d'Albergotti.  In  a  few 
minutes  Suzanne  entered. 

"Since  we  separated,  madame, "  Monsieur  de  Louvois 
said  to  her,  "I  have  made  a  reflection.  I  wish,  in  con- 
sideration of  your  extreme  youth,  to  forget  the  fault  of 
which  you  have  rendered  yourself  guilty." 

"Ah!"  thought  Suzanne,  "already  it  is  no  longer  but  a 
fault;  just  now  it  was  a  crime." 

"But,"  continued  the  minister,  "I  attach  one  condition 
to  this  favor.  Monsieur  de  Pomereux,  an  acquaintance  of 
yours  I  believe,  has  been  charged  by  me  with  informing 
you  as  to  what  that  condition  is.  I  leave  you.  Monsieur 
le  Comte  will  bring  me  your  reply ;  I  desire  it  to  be  such 
that  I  can  set  you  at  liberty  immediately." 

Monsieur  de  Louvois  withdrew,  and  Monsieur  de  Pom- 
ereux and  Suzanne  were  left  alone. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

A  PROPOSAL  OF  MARRIAGE. 

After  the  departure  of  Monsieur  de  Louvois,  the  Comte 
de  Pomereux,  on  seeing  the  great  eyes  of  Suzanne  fixed 
upon  him  with  an  expression  of  astonishment  and  in- 
quietude, understood  that  the  mission  with  which  he  had 
charged  himself  was  more  delicate  than  he  had  thought  at 
first.  But  Monsieur  de  Pomereux  was  not  a  man  to  recoil 
before  any  enterprise;  the  most  extravagant  were  pre- 
cisely those  which  pleased  him  most.  So  he  proceeded  to 
impart  to  her  the  intentions  of  Monsieur  de  Louvois. 

"You  have  heard  the  minister, "  he  said  to  her;  "your 
fate  is  in  your  own  hands,  madame." 

"That  is  to  say,  monsieur,  that  it  is  still  between  his, 
since  he  attaches  a  condition  to  it." 

"To  tell  the  truth,  madame,  I  have  obtained  from  my 
illustrious  cousin  more  than  I  hoped  for,  but  in  a  different 
manner  from  what  I  should  have  desired." 

"Explain  yourself,  plea.se." 

Monsieur  de  Pomereux  was  silent  for  some  moments. 

"My  faith,  madame,  "he  all  at  once  exclaimed  like  a 
man  who  takes  his  part,  "I  believe  the  simplest  way  is  to 
come  out  with  it  plainly." 

"That  is  also  my  opinion,  monsieur." 


A  PKOPOSAL  OF  MARRIAGE.  225 

"Well!  madame,  it  is  Monsieur  de  Louvois'  will  that  you 
marry  me." 

Madame  d'Albergotti  grew  red  as  a  strawberry  and  ut- 
tered a  slight  cry. 

"Yes,  madame,  that  you  marry  me!"  repeated  the  count, 
bowing. 

"But  it  is  a  piece  of  folly!"  exclaimed  Suzanne. 

"For  you,  madame,  I  am  of  that  opinion;  but  permit  me 
to  believe  that  it  is  nothing  of  the  kind  on  my  side." 

"Is  it  quite  seriously  that  Monsieur  de  Louvois  has 
spoken  to  you,  monsieur?" 

"The  most  seriously  in  the  world." 

"He  wishes  me  to  be  your  wife?" 

"Or  me  to  be  your  husband,  whichever  you  prefer." 

"And  that  is  the  only  condition  which  he  has  attached 
to  my  liberty?" 

"The  only  one." 

"Pardon  me,  monsieur,  if  I  insist,"  said  Suzanne,  "but 
will  you  inform  me  if  this  proposition  comes  from  Mon- 
sieur de  Louvois  himself." 

"Certainly,  madame,  it  is  an  audacity  which  I  would 
have  never  had." 

"It  appears  at  least  that  you  approve  of  it." 

"I  humbly  acknowledge  it.  When  the  door  of  paradise 
is  open  to  you,  one  does  not  close  it." 

"This  is  the  language  of  the  court,  and  you  forget  that  I 
am  almost  in  prison." 

"Let  me  believe  that  you  will  never  be  there." 

"I  see,  monsieur,"  replied  Suzanne,  gravely,  "that  your 
cousin,  Monsieur  de  Louvois,  has  not  told  you  every- 
thing." 

"On  the  contrary,  madame,  he  has  told  me  everything," 
said  Monsieur  de  Pomereux,  with  a  smile. 

Suzanne  looked  at  him  with  frightened  eyes. 

"He  has  told  you  that  I  was  affianced  to  him.  whose 
flight  I  have  protected?"  exclaimed  she. 
'Yes,  madame." 
'That  I  loved  him?" 
'Yes." 

'That  he  loved  me?" 
'Yes." 

'And  you  have  consented  to  marry  me?" 
'Yes." 

'Oh!  you  lie!"    exclaimed  Suzanne,  rising  with  a  face 
purple  with  indignation. 

"Not  at  all;  it  seems  tome  that  I  say  to  you  the  most 


226  A  PROPOSAL  OF  MARRIAGE. 

natural  things  in  the  world,"  replied  the  count,  with  an 
unalterable  sang-froid. 

"Monsieur,"  said  Madame  d'Albergotti,  sitting  down 
again,  "we  must  come  to  an  understanding.  I  have  told 
you " 

"Do  not  trouble  yourself  to  begin  again;  I  am  going  to 
repeat  to  you  what  you  have  told  me.  You  have  a,  fiance; 
this  fiance,  who  is  the  fugitive  pursued  by  Monsieur  de 
Louvois'  men,  loves  you,  which  is  quite  simple,  and  you 
love  him.  You  are  going  to  swear  to  me  that  you  are  de- 
termined to  love  him  always,  and  that  on  his  part  he  will 
take  care  never  to  forget  you.  Is  that  it?" 

"Perfectly." 

"You  see,  then,  that  I  have  heard  everything." 

"And  notwithstanding  these  avowals,  you  still  persist  in 
wishing  me  for  your  wife." 

"Upon  my  word,  madame,  it  is  my  chief  desire. " 

A  bitter  smile  passed  over  the  lips  of  Suzanne,  who  drew 
back  her  seat  and  gathered  her  dress  around  her  with  a 
gesture  of  crushing  scorn. 

"Is  it  possible,  madame,  that  you  have  seen  so  little  of 
the  world  that  my  proposition  astonishes  you?"  continued 
Monsieur  de  Pomereux. 

"It  does  more  than  astonish  me,  monsieur;  it  afflicts 
me." 

"Eh!  my  God!  madame,"  exclaimed  the  count,  with  a 
surprised  air,  "what  is  there,  then,  so  afflicting  in  the 
desire  which  I  have  to  marry  you?  You  are  such  that  half 
the  ladies  of  the  court  are  jealous  of  you;  I  am  a  gentle- 
man, we  are  both  young.  What  is  there  more  simple?" 

"Since  all  this  is  more  serious  than  I  thought  at  first,  I 
will  answer  you  seriously,  monsieur.  When  my  father 
served  as  guide  to  my  youth,  I  made  the  sacrifice  of  my 
hand,  but  to-day  that  I  am  free,  the  hand  will  not  give 
itself  without  the  heart.  Now  the  heart  is  already  given, 
monsieur.  I  have  nothing  more  to  say  in  answer  to  the 
proposition  which  you  have  transmitted  to  me  in  the  name 
of  Monsieur  de  Louvois.  My  life  and  liberty  are  his;  my 
love  is  my  own." 

From  Madame  d'Albergotti's  air,  Monsieur  de  Pomereux 
understood  that  he  no  longer  had  anything  to  hope  for; 
but  he  drew  from  this  certainty  the  desire  of  triumphing 
over  a  resistance  which,  to  tell  the  truth,  he  had  not  ex- 
pected. 

"In  faith,  madame,"   said  he,  with  a  smile,  "perhaps 


A  PROPOSAL  OF  MARRIAGE.  227 

yon  are  wrong,  and  your  refusal  exposes  you  to  a  danger 
which  you  did  not  expect." 

"What  is  it,  monsieur?" 

"That  of  seeing  me  fall  in  love  with  you." 

Suzanne  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"Eh!  niadaxne,  you  need  not  ridicule  the  idea,  If  you 
had  married  me,  you  would  perhaps  have  escaped  this 
peril,  but  you  are  not  sure  of  avoiding  it  now.  ' 

"If  it  is  a  peril,  acknowledge  at  least  that  Monsieur  de 
Louvois  will  take  care  to  place  me  where  it  cannot  reach 
me." 

"And  that  is  what  vexes  me.  Prison  for  prison,  in  your 
place,  I  should  have  preferred  marriage.  It  is  a  TNsBlft 
from  which  one  sometimes  escapes." 

Suzanne  stopped  Monsieur  de  Pomereux  with  a  gesture. 

"So  be  it,"  said  he.  "You  are  now  between  my  cousin's 
claws ;  but  it  shall  not  be  said  that  I  attempted  nothing  for 
your  deliverance;  the  thing  interests  me  a  little  now,  and 
I  shall  put  everything  to  work  to  set  you  free  again." 

An  hour  later  Monsieur  de  Louvois  called  for  Monsieur 
de  Pomereux. 

"Well,"  he  said  to  him,  as  soon  as  he  perceived  him, 
"have  we  made  the  citadel  capitulate?" 

"£h!parblea!  one  is  almost  sure  of  triumphing  over  a 
woman,  and  you  send  me  to  a  phenomenon.  'Pon  my 
word,  Heloise,  of  faithful  memory,  is  not  worthy,  in  my 
opinion,  to  lace  Madame  d'Albergotti's  corset " 

"In  short  she  prefers  the  prison  or  the  cloister  to  your 
person." 

n  see  how  humiliated  I  am  by  it.  It  is  a  very  bad 
example  for  the  court,  and  you  cannot  imprison  her  too 
soon." 

"I  will  take  care  of  that,"  replied  Monsieur  de  Louvois, 
writing  some  words  upon  a  paper. 

Monsieur  de  Louvois1  accent  as  he  said  this  made  Mon- 
sieur de  Pomereux  tremble,  although  he  was  not  easily 
moved.  He  threw  a  look  of  pity  toward  the  door  of  the 
cabinet  occupied  by  Suzanne,  and"  went  out. 

Immediately  after  Monsieur  de  Louvois  had  a  moment's 
conference  with  Monsieur  de  Charny. 

' '  Well,  she  refuses  Monsieur  de  Pomereux.  The  convent 
is  still  left  us, "  said  Monsieur  de  Louvois,  placing  his  sig- 
nature at  the  bottom  of  a  letter  which  he  had  just  written. 

"Bah!"  said  the  confidant,  "a  cell  is  preferable  to  a 
bier." 

Soon  after,  an  usher  came  to  inform  Madame  d'Albergotti 


228      THE  CONVENT  IN  THE  RUE  DU  CHEKCHE-MIDI. 

that  it  was  time  to  leave.  The  marquise  arose  and  de- 
scended to  the  court  of  the  hotel,  where  she  saw  a  carriage 
bearing  the  arms  of  the  minister.  The  gentleman  who  had 
conducted  her  that  morning  to  Monsieur  de  Louvois'  was 
waiting  for  her.  It  was  Monsieur  de  Charny.  At  sight 
of  that  pale  and  cold  visage,  Madame  d'Albergotti  shivered ; 
she  turned  aside  her  eyes  and  leaped,  without  taking  his 
hand,  into  the  carriage,  in  which  Monsieur  de  Charny 
sat  down  soon  after.  The  coachman  cracked  his  whip, 
and  the  carriage  rolled  away. 

"Where  are  you  taking  me,  monsieur?"  Suzanne  asked 
Monsieur  de  Charny. 

"To  the  Convent  of  the  Benedictine  Nuns  in  the  Eue  du 
Cherche-Midi." 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

THE  CONVENT  IN  THE   RUE  DU  CHERCHE-MIDI. 

The  Convent  of  the  Benedictine  Nuns  in  the  Rue  du 
Cherche-Midi  was  then  one  of  the  convents  of  Paris  most 
renowned  for  the  austerity  of  its  discipline.  It  was  a  great 
square  building,  surrounded  by  vast  and  beautiful  gardens, 
which  formed  for  this  religious  exile  a  verdant  rampart 
filled  with  cool  retreats  and  shady  paths.  But  in  the  midst 
of  this  fresh  and  smiling  park  the  convent,  with  its  white 
walls  and  gray  roofs  from  which  no  noise  escaped,  had  a 
mournful  aspect  which  chilled  the  heart.  It  was  like  a 
great  tomb  in  the  midst  of  flowers.  At  the  name  of  Mon- 
sieur de  Louvois,  the  door  opened ;  Madame  d'Albergotti 
and  her  guide  descended  from  the  carriage ;  Suzanne  was 
taken  to  a  little  room,  whose  sole  furniture  was  a  wooden 
bench,  an  image  of  Christ,  and  a  prie-Dieu,  and  Monsieur 
de  Charny  was  introduced  into  the  parlor,  where  the 
superior  was  waiting  for  him. 

"Wait  here  some  moments,  madame, "  said  Monsieur  de 
Charny  to  Suzanne,  on  quitting  her;  "I  am  going  to  recom- 
mend you  to  the  special  kindness  of  the  superior." 

Madame  d'Albergotti  bowed  without  replying.  The  voice 
of  this  man  congealed  the  blood  in  her  veins.  The  letter 
of  which  Monsieur  de  Charny  was  the  bearer  was  con- 
ceived in  clear  and  precise  terms.  As  soon  as  she  had  be- 
come acquainted  with  its  contents,  the  superior  respect- 
fully saluted  the  minister's  envoy. 

"Assure  Monsieur  de  Louvois,"  said  she,  "that  his  in- 


THE  CONVENT  IN  THE  EUE  DQ  CHEKCHE-MLDI.      229 

structions  shall  be  observed ;  I  know  too  -well  what  the 
house  of  which  I  have  the  direction  owes  him  to  fail  there- 
in." 

•'Madame,"  replied  Monsieur  de  Charny,  "this  letter 
must  have  told  you  that  Monsieur  de  Louvois  had  in  some 
sort  confided  to  me  the  guardianship  of  the  person  whom 
he  sends  you.  His  intention  is  that  she  shall  take  the  vail 
in  two  or  three  months,  unless  she  submits  to  his  will  be- 
fore that  time." 

"She  shall  take  it,  monsieur." 

"She  is  obstinate,  and  unfortunately  inclined  to  worldly 
things.  Of  course  you  will  treat  her  kindly,  for  it  is  in 
your  pious  and  soft  character,  madame ;  but  temper  this 
extreme  kindness  by  a  little  firmness.  Believe  me,  she 
will  the  more  readily  find  the  road  to  safety. ' ' 

Monsieur  de  Charny  spoke  some  minutes  still  in  this 
tone,  then  withdrew,  not  without  profound  reverences. 
At  the  end  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  Suzanne  heard  the 
carriage  which  had  brought  him  rolling  away.  She  gave 
in  thought  a  last  adieu  to  the  things  of  life,  and  followed 
a  sister  who  came  to  seek  her. 

The  superior  of  the  Convent  of  Benedictine  Nuns,  who 
was  called,  between  the  walls  of  the  convent,  Mother 
Evangelique  du  Cocur-de- Marie,  had  been  known  in  the 
world  as  Madame  de  Riege.  She  was  a  creature  of  Mon- 
sieur de  Louvois. 

"My  daughter,"  said  she  to  Suzanne,  with  a  pale  smile, 
"Monsieur  de  Louvois,  who  wishes  you  well,  informs  me 
that  he  has  chosen  our  house  for  your  retreat.  On  the 
threshold  of  this  pious  house  die  the  noises  of  the  world. 
Rejoice,  my  daughter,  that  you  have  come  here." 

"I  would  rejoice,  madame,  if  I  had  come  here  of  my 
own  free  will ;  but  I  have  been  brought  here  by  force,  and 
I  imagine  that  this  house  is,  for  me,  a  sort  of  Bastile." 

Mother  Evangelique  bit  her  lip;  but  she  continued, 
more  softly : 

"You  are  not  in  a  prison;  this  is  the  house  of  God,  and 
you  are  under  the  protection  of  the  holy  mother  of  Christ. 
You  are  young,  my  daughter,  and  subject  to  the  illusions 
of  the  world.  But  one  learns  in  our  profound  peace  to  re- 
gret nothing,  and  I  hope  that  you  will  one  day  enter  the 
holy  flock  of  which  God  has  confided  to  me  the  direction. 
Adieu,  my  daughter." 

The  superior  withdrew,  and  soon  after  a  sister  came  to 
take  Suzanne  to  the  room  which  was  destined  for  her. 
While  these  things  were  transpiring  at  the  convent  in  the 


230      THE  CONVENT  IN  THE  RUE  DU  CHERCHE-MIDI. 

Rue  du  Cherche-Midi,  Claudine  was  awaiting,  in  a  mortal 
inquietude,  the  return  of  Suzanne.  The  hours  passed  away, 
and  Suzanne  did  not  return.  Toward  noon,  not  having 
seen  or  heard  anything,  Claudine,  no  longer  being  able  to 
contain  herself,  left  the  hotel  and  ran  to  Monsieur  de 
Louvois'.  By  force  of  questioning  the  ushers  who  went 
and  came  in  all  directions,  she  learned  that  Madame  d'Al- 
bergotti  had  left  in  a  carriage  with  a  gentleman  belonging 
to  the  retinue  of  Monsieur  de  Louvois.  This  news  was  not 
of  a  nature  to  diminish  her  fears.  What  did  they  wish  to 
do  with  Suzanne?  where  had  they  taken  her?  The  court 
was  full  of  all  sorts  of  people  going  and  coming,  at  every 
minute  a  carriage  left  or  arrived  with  great  noise,  the 
lackeys  were  playing  dice  while  waiting  for  their  masters ; 
no  one  paid  any  attention  to  Claudine.  The  poor  girl, 
overcome  by  weariness,  finished  by  sitting  down  upon  a 
little  bench  in  a  corner,  where  she  began  to  weep.  She 
was  about  to  dry  her  eyes,  something  which  she  had  done 
already  for  the  tenth  time,  when  she  was  drawn  from  her 
isolation  by  a  voice  which  called  her.  Claudine  raised  her 
head  and  recognized  Corporal  Grippard.  In  her  present 
state  of  agitation  the  kindly  face  of  Grippard  appeared  to 
her  the  best  and  most  amiable  face  she  had  ever  seen. 

"Oh!  my  God!"  said  she,  "it  is  heaven  which  sends 
you." 

"In  faith,  mademoiselle,  I  will  go  to  burn  a  taper  for  the 
saint  which  brings  me  this  good  fortune, "  replied  Grip- 
pard, with  a  military  grace  which  on  any  other  occasion 
would  have  made  Claudine  smile. 

"Monsieur  Grippard, "  said  the  young  girl,  "you  must 
come  to  my  aid;  at  first  I  did  not  know  what  was  to  be- 
come of  me." 

"Eh!  my  God!  you  say  this  to  me  with  a  singular  air ; 
what,  then,  has  happened  to  you?" 

"You  do  not  know,  then?  Suzanne  has  been  carried 
off." 

"Suzanne!"  repeated  Grippard,  with  a  surprised  air. 

"Yes;  Madame  d'Albergotti." 

"The  lady  who,  with  my  friend  Deroute,  has  employed 
herself  to  procure  my  captain's  escape?" 

"Yes." 

"And  who  the  devil  can  have  taken  it  into  his  head  to 
commit  this  beautiful  action?" 

"Monsieur  de  Louvois." 

"Oh!"  said  Grippard,  with  a  frightened  air. 

"You  are  going  to  aid  me  to  find  her  again?" 


THE  CONVENT  IN  THE  KUE  DU  CHERCHE-MIDI.      231 

"I  am  perfectly  willing,  but  -what  can  a  poor  devil  of  an 
ex-corporal  do  in  opposition  to  a  minister?" 

"All  the  same,  you  will  aid  me." 

"With  great  pleasure;  Captain  Belle-Rose  is  a  brave 
soldier  who  has  not  punished  me  every  time  that  I  de- 
served it;  this  lady  whom  you  call  Madame  d'Albergotti 
has  served  him  all  in  her  power ;  well,  ventrebleu !  I  will 
serve  her  with  all  my  strength." 

"It  is  first  necessary  to  know  where  he  has  been  taken," 
said  she. 

"We  will  find  out  by  ferreting  in  that  great  barrack  of  a 
hotel;  I  will  find  some  comrade  or  some  lackey  who  is  ac- 
quainted with  the  ushers  or  clerks.  I  have  good  legs  and 
my  tongue  is  not  too  bad,  as  jrou  will  see." 

"As  soon  as  you  learn  the  place  of  her  retreat,  you.  will 
come  and  inform  me  of  it?" 

"Parbleu!  since  it  is  for  you,  I  will  ask  it." 

"And  you  will  not  lose  a  minute?" 

"Not  a  second." 

Claudine  returned  to  the  hotel  in  the  Rue  de  1'Oseille,  a 
little  less  troubled  than  she  was  when  she  had  met  Grip- 
pard.  Grippard  was  a  conscientious  man,  who  performed 
k  yally  all  that  which  he  promised ;  unfortunately  he  had 
more  loyalty  than  intelligence,  and  he  rarely  succeeded  in 
things  which  required  a  certain  amount  of  cunning.  He 
installed  himself  before  Monsieur  de  Louvois'  hotel  and 
bravely  set  to  work  to  question  the  lackeys,  the  ushers, 
and  all  the  employees  who  circulated  there.  He  was 
standing  there,  looking  for  a  new  face  to  question,  when 
he  perceived  Bouletord  descending  the  grand  stair-way 
with  a  radiant  air.  The  brigadier  had  one  hand  upon  his 
hip,  and  with  his  other  hand  he  was  curling  his  mustache. 
Never  had  his  hat  been  placed  co  awry,  never  had  his 
sword  so  proudly  beaten  his  legs,  never  had  his  boots  been 
planted  so  squarely  upon  the  pavement ,  he  was  a  man 
who  wore  an  air  of  triumph  from  head  to  foot.  Grippard 
had  seen  Bouletord  on  the  day  of  the  expedition  to  Ville- 
juif,  but  Bouletord  had  not  seen  Grippard  who  was  dis- 
guised. The  corporal  did  not  hesitate,  and  resolutely  ac- 
costed his  comrade. 

"Good-day,  brigadier,"  he  said  to  him. 

"Quartermaster,  if  you  please,"  replied  Bouletord,  with 
a  superb  air. 

"Ah!  diable!  you  are  advancing,  it  seems." 
"It  is  Monsieur  de  Louvois  whom  I  have  just  seen  who 


232      THE  CONVENT  IN  THE  KUE  DU  CHEECHE-MIDI. 

has  named  me  to  this  position.  He  will  not  stop  at  this. 
The  minister  knows  how  to  appreciate  my  services." 

In  pronouncing  these  words  Bouletord  seemed  to  be 
stifling  in  his  uniform ;  he  spoke  in  loud  tones  and  turned 
his  eyes  in  all  directions  to  see  if  any  one  was  looking  at 
him.  Grippard  had  enough  sense  to  understand  that  this 
man  only  asked  to  be  questioned  in  order  to  reply.  He 
proposed  to  him  to  go  and  drink  a  bottle  or  two  together, 
and  the  quartermaster  accepted,  in  the  double  hope  of  re- 
freshing himself  and  having  an  auditor. 

"Therefore,"  said  Grippard,  when  they  were  seated  be- 
fore the  table  of  a  neighboring  cabaret,  "you  have  seen  the 
minister." 

"As  I  see  you;  he  has  given  me  twenty  louis  and  has 
told  me  that  I  was  a  brave  man  whom  it  was  necessary  to 
push." 

"You  have  performed  all  sorts  of  courageous  deeds, 
then?" 

"Only  one,  but  it  was  worth  a  thousand." 

"What  was  it?" 

"I  have  killed  Belle-Eose." 

Grippard  let  fall  the  glass  which  he  was  holding  to  his 
mouth. 

"Oh!  when  I  say  killed,  I  am  not  altogether  sure  of  it; 
but  he  must  be  dead  by  this  time.  I  have  placed  a  ball  at 
this  spot  in  him,"  added  Bouletord,  placing  his  finger 
upon  Grippard's  doublet.  "See  what  one  gains,"  continued 
Bouletord,  who  took  his  comrade's  silence  for  admiration, 
"by  struggling  against  us.  The  man  is  almost  dead  and 
the  woman  imprisoned." 

"What  woman?"  asked  Grippard,  with  an  innocent 
air. 

"Eh!  parbleu!  Madame  d'Albergotti.  She  is  in  a  con- 
vent." 

"What  convent?" 

"Faith,  I  do  not  know.  It  is  a  convent  like  all  convents. 
Visitandines,  Visulines,  or  Benedictines — what  difference 
does  it  make?" 

"That  is  true,"  said  Grippard. 

Bouletord  was  beginning  to  get  tipsy;  he  quitted 
Madame  d'Albergotti  and  returned  to  Belle-Rose;  at  the 
end  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour  he  had  narrated  six  times  the 
history  of  the  shot.  It  was  more  than  Grippard  wished  to 
hear;  he  paid  his  reckoning  and  ran  to  Claudine. 

Claudine  came  near  dying  of  despair  on  hearing  the 
narrative  of  the  poor  soldier.  Twenty  times  she  made  him 


THE  CONVENT  IN  THE  RUE  DU  CHERCHE-MIDI.      233 

repeat  the  same  discourse  and  interrupted  him  at  each 
moment  by  her  sobs. 

"Perhaps  he  is  still  alive,"  she  finally  said. 

"What  do  you  count  on  doing?" 

"To  leave  for  England." 

"I  do  not  know  how  to  make  you  the  offer, "  said  Grip- 
pard,  "but  it  seems  to  me  that  you  would  do  well  to  permit 
me  to  accompany  you.  I  have  been  a  corporal  in  your 
brother's  company.  It  is  quite  simple. " 

"I  accept,"  she  said  to  him;  "we  will  leave  to-morrow." 

Monsieur  de  Louvois  had  no  sooner  learned  the  news  of 
the  supposed  death  of  Belle-Rose  than  he  sent  for  Monsieur 
de  Pomereux.  He  informed  him  of  Belle-Rose's  death  and 
gave  him  a  letter  to  the  superior  of  the  convent  in  the  Rue 
du  Cherche-Midi.  Monsieur  de  Pomereux  went  at  once 
and  was  received  by  Madame  d'Albergotti  in  the  parlor. 
The  same  emotion  which  had  seized  the  gentleman  at  their 
first  interview  at  Monsieur  de  Louvois'  made  tremble  his 
heart  at  sight  of  Suzanne.  She  had,  as  she  saluted  him,  a 
smile  so  sweet  and  such  a  chaste  mixture  of  reserved 
affability,  that  he  was  touched  by  it. 

"Do  you  bring  me  good  news?"  she  said  to  him. 

"Alas!  madame, "  Monsieur  de  Pomereux  replied,  "I 
come  on  the  part  of  Monsieur  de  Louvois." 

"That  is  to  say  that  the  news  is  not  good." 

"Perhaps  you  are  right.  I  wish  that  we  were  in  the  time 
of  the  chevaliers  of  the  Round  Table  in  order  to  have  the 
right  to  come  to  deliver  you  lance  in  hand ;  unfortunately, 
madame,  the  police  are  in  the  way ;  but  there  is  another 
means  of  leaving  here." 

"Again!"  said  Suzanne,  in  a  half  laughing,  half  serious 
tone. 

"Eh!  madame,  believe  that  if  I  mention  this  proposition, 
it  is  more  in  your  interest  than  in  mine.  You  are  de- 
livered, and  I  am  enchained." 

The  brusque  tone  of  this  repartee  made  Madame  d'Alber- 
gotti smile. 

"Must  I  thank  you?"  said  she. 

"Hold,  madame,  let  us  speak  seriously,"  replied  the 
count;  "it  has  been  such  a  long  time  since  this  folly  has 
happened  to  me,  that  I  can  indulge  it  for  a  few  moments. 
I  feel  attracted  toward  you  by  a  sympathy  which  you  will 
call  by  what  name  you  please,  but  which  is  sincere ;  your 
future  frightens  me,  you  do  not  know  what  kind  of  a  man 
my  dear  cousin  is.  When  passion  dominates  him  he  is 
capable  of  anything.  You  and  Captain  Belle-Rose  have 


234  A  WHITE  NIGHT. 

wounded  his  pride  as  minister;  the  wound  is  incurable. 
You  know  what  day  you  have  entered  this  convent;  do 
you  know  what  day  you  will  leave  it?  Are  you  quite  sure 
that  Belle-Rose  will  ever  return?  Between  you  there  is 
the  sea  and  the  minister's  anger,  madame!  Do  you  wish 
to  make  of  this  cloister  your  tomh?  First  leave,  marry 
me,  and  you  can  live  afterward  as  you  chose.  If  I  dis- 
please you  too  much,  our  gracious  monarch  will  furnish 
me  the  occasion  to  get  killed  in  his  service.  At  any  rate 
you  will  he  free  and  out  of  these  stifling  walls." 

Madame  d'Albergotti  saw  that  Monsieur  de  Pomereux 
spoke  seriously  this  time.  She  extended  her  hand  to  the 
young  man,  who  kissed  it  respectfully. 

"Thanks,  monsieur,"  she  said  to  him ;  "you  have  a  kind 
heart.  In  repulsing  you  it  is  not  Monsieur  de  Pomereux 
whom  I  repulse ;  it  is  marriage  with  another  than  Belle- 
Rose.  I  have  plighted  my  faith  to  him ;  let  him  die  or 
live,  I  shall  keep  it.  I  do  not  hide  from  myself  the  perils 
to  which  the  rancor  of  Monsieur  de  Louvois  exposes  me. 
These  perils  will  not  be  stronger  than  my  resignation. 
You  have  understood  me,  monsieur;  let  this  be  final  be- 
tween us." 

Monsieur  de  Pomereux  bowed.  What  he  had  still  to  say 
strangled  him;  he  wished  to  conquer  his  emotion  and 
could  not.  He  leaned  over  Suzanne's  hand  and  kissed  it 
again  with  a  respect  which  was  not  habitual  with  him. 

"You  are  a  noble  creature,"  said  he. 

Monsieur  de  Pomereux  called  for  the  superior ;  she  came, 
and  he  asked  her  to  communicate  to  Madame  d'Albergotti 
the  news  of  which  he  was  the  bearer;  after  which  he  went 
out  in  all  haste.  As  he  was  traversing  the  inner  court,  he 
heard  a  heart-rending  cry.  His  heart  leaped  in  his  breast. 

"My  God!"  he  murmured,  "I  believe  that  if  thirty 
women  had  not  shared  my  affections,  I  would  finish  by 
loving  this  one." 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

A  WHITE  NIGHT. 

The  cry  which  Monsieur  de  Pomereux  had  heard  was 
indeed  the  cry  of  Suzanne  when  she  had  learned  the  sup- 
posed death  of  Belle-Rose.  Mother  Evangelique  had  coldly 
announced  it  to  her,  and  Suzanne,  overwhelmed  by  this 
blow,  had  fallen  upon  the  carpet.  The  superior  called  two 


A  WHITE  NIGHT.  235 

sisters,  who  transported  her  to  her  room,  where  she  re- 
mained several  hours  without  giving  any  sign  of  life. 
When  she  awoke  as  from  a  long  sleep,  the  tears  were 
streaming  from  her  eyes.  Toward  evening,  her  distracted 
soul  clung  to  a  hope,  which  in  the  night  of  her  despair, 
shone  like  a  star.  It  seemed  to  her  that,  in  her  cruel  nar- 
ration, the  superior  had  vaguely  expressed  a  doubt  con- 
cerning the  reality  of  Belle-Rose's  death.  It  might  also  be 
a  false  piece  of  news  prepared  by  Monsieur  de  Louvois. 
Suzanne  resolved  to  wait  before  taking  any  determination, 
but  the  blow  had  been  terrible,  and  when  she  appeared 
next  day  at  prayers,  it  might  have  been  believed  that  she 
was  a  ghost  coming  from  the  tomb.  Three  days  passed  in 
this  anguish  which  exhausted  her.  On  the  fourth  day, 
Suzanne  was  informed  that  Monsieur  de  Pomereux  was  in 
the  parlor  and  desired  to  speak  with  her.  Suzanne's  first 
thought  was  to  refuse  this  interview,  but  she  changed  her 
mind  and  went  down.  Monsieur  de  Pomereux  hardly 
recognized  her,  so  profound  was  the  transformation  which 
she  had  undergone. 

"Madame,"  he  exclaimed,  "you  are  killing  yourself." 

"Despair  is  not  suicide,"  she  replied. 

"Mordieu!  madame,"  said  the  count,  "it  shall  not  be 
said  that  I  let  you  die.  Belle-Rose  is  not  dead." 

Suzanne's  joy  was  so  keen  that  she  tottered  and  came 
near  falling ;  tears  burst  from  her  eyes  and  she  began  to 
sob  like  a  child  without  knowing  what  she  was  doing. 
When  Suzanne  had  grown  somewhat  calm,  she  raised  a 
face  in  which  shone  a  smile  bathed  in  tears. 

"Thanks!"  she  said  to  him,  "you  do  not  know  what  a 
relief  your  words  give  me." 

"Eh!  parbleu!  I  suspect  it  slightly  from  th9  pain  which 
I  suffer." 

'Are  you  quite  sure  he  is  not  dead?" 
'Yes,  I  am  quite  sure  of  it." 
'From  whom  does  your  information  come?" 
'It  comes  from  my  cousin,  who  has  received  it  from 
England,  where  Captain  Belle-Rose  now  is. ' ' 
'But  perhaps  he  is  dangerously  wounded?" 
'To  speak  to  you  frankly  he  has  a  ball  in  his  breast. 
Ah!  you  grow  pale!    Come,  the  wound  is  not  mortal. 
Diable !  I  have  seen  people  cured  who  were  pierced  through 
and  through.   In  six  weeks  he  will  be  as  sound  as  ever." 

"Do  you  believe  it?" 

"I  give  you  my  word  upon  it.  Monsieur  de  Louvois  has 
been  informed  of  the  adventure  by  Monsieur  de  Charny,  a 


236  A.  WHITE  NIGHT. 

devil  of  a  man  who  has  agents  everywhere ;  he  has  re- 
ceived news  of  it  from  Dover,  where  the  fugitives  have 
disembarked.  Monsieur  de  Louvois  has  torn  up  the  dis- 
patch; he  begins  to  believe  that  the  captain  has  some 
amulet  which  protects  him." 

"It  is  the  justice  of  his  cause  which  defends  him,  mon- 
sieur." 

Monsieur  de  Pomereux's  visit  gave  back  to  Suzanne  the 
calm  which  she  had  lost,  and  full  of  courage,  now  that 
Belle- Rose  was  alive,  she  had  faith  in  the  future.  There 
was  in  the  convent  a  young  girl  whom  her  family  were 
trying  to  induce  to  take  the  vail.  She  had  been  Suzanne's 
friend  during  those  somber  days  when  she  was  grieving 
over  Belle-Rose's  supposed  death.  A  tender  affection  had 
sprung  up  between  them.  Gabrielle  de  Mesle  might  be 
seventeen  or  eighteen  years  of  age ;  she  was  slender  and 
white  like  a  lily,  and  blonde  like  those  portraits  of  the 
Virgin  which  one  sees  in  churches.  One  night  as  Suzanne 
was  asleep  in  her  room,  she  was  drawn  from  her  sleep  by 
light  sighs  which  came  from  the  foot  of  the  bed.  She 
opened  her  eyes  and  saw,  in  the  dim  light  of  a  night-lamp, 
a  white  form  which  was  seated  at  her  feet,  immovable  and 
stiff  like  a  statue.  Though  she  was  naturally  courageous, 
Suzanne  shivered  aud  felt  an  icy  sweat  bathe  her  temples ; 
she  arose  to  get  a  better  view  of  the  phantom.  As  she 
leaned  forward,  she  recognized  Gabrielle,  who  was  look- 
ing at  her  with  dilated  eyes.  The  poor  girl's  head  was 
bare,  and  her  long  hair  descended  to  her  breast ;  she  was 
half  clothed  in  a  peignoir  which  floated  around  her  form 
and  gave  her  the  appearance  of  a  shadow.  Her  teeth  chat- 
tered behind  her  white  lips. 

"I  am  afraid,"  said  she,  extending  toward  Suzanne  her 
suppliant  hands. 

"lam  going  to  die!  I  am  going  to  die !  My  God!  save 
me !"  cried  Gabrielle. 

These  words,  and  still  more  the  accent  with  which  they 
were  spoken,  filled  with  pity  the  heart  of  Suzanne.  She 
let  Gabrielle's  head  rest  upon  her  shoulder  and  called  her 
by  the  softest  names. 

"You  are  a  little  fool,  calm  yourself ,"  said  she ;  "are 
you  not  near  me?  What  do  you  fear?" 

"Oh!"  said  Gabrielle,  "I  feel  that  I  am  dying  a  little 
each  day.  This  night  I  have  seen  my  sister  calling  me  in 
a  dream.  She,  too,  is  dead.  I  have  awakened  bathed  in  a 
cold  sweat ;  I  felt  her  humid  and  icy  breath ;  I  have  closed 


A  WHITE  NIGHT.  237 

my  eyes  and  ran  here  more  dead,  than  alive.  She  was  in  a 
convent,  my  poor  sister;  she  never  left  it." 

Gabrielle  pressed  her  face  to  Suzanne's  breast  and  sobbed 
grievously. 

"And  you  have  no  relatives?" 

"Relatives!  Oh!  I  have  several  of  them,  perhaps  too 
many  of  them.  We  were  rich,  so  rich  that  several  envied 
us!  It  is  horrible!  horrible!" 

Gabrielle  trembled  from  head  to  foot. 

"It  was  my  mother  who  died  first,  beautiful,  young,  and 
adored ;  she  grew  pale  one  day,  then  suffered  the  next, 
then  went  to  bed ;  she  complained  some  days  longer  and 
never  rose  again.  My  sister  loved  no  one  in  the  world  but 
her.  This  death  rendered  her  mad ;  she  went  to  a  convent, 
there  she  suffered  as  I  am  suffering,  and  she  only  left  it  to 
go  to  the  cemetery  with  a  crown  of  white  roses  upon  her 
forehead. ' ' 

"Poor  girl!"  murmured  Suzanne. 

"Is  it  of  me  or  of  the  dead  you  speak?"  said  Gabrielle; 
"our  destiny  will  be  the  same.  A  brother  was  left  us,  an 
adorable  child  six  years  old,  frank,  joyous,  with  rosy  lips 
and  eyes  like  flowers.  Poor  Henri !  one  morning  he  awoke 
with  the  pallor  of  marble  upon  his  forehead ;  his  lips  were 
blue,  his  skin  dry  and  hot ;  he  threw  his  arms  around  my 
neck,  telling  me  that  his  breast  was  on  fire ;  at  noon  his 
little  hands  were  already  cold,  and  when  evening  came  he 
was  dead!" 

Suzanne  pressed  Gabrielle  to  her  breast. 

"You  are  astonished, "  said  the  young  girl,  in  a  hollow 
voice,  "but  you  have  understood  nothing,  then?  You 
know  nothing?" 

"What?"  said  Suzanne,  with  affright. 

"We  were  rich;  others  wished  our  wealth.  They  will 
get  it — I  alone  am  left." 

And  in  low  tones  she  added: 

"Poison  is  in  France,  poison  is  everywhere;  it  is  in  the 
heart  of  families,  it  is  in  the  water  we  drink,  in  the  fruit 
we  eat,  in  the  flower  which  we  caress,  in  the  perfume  we 
breathe.  It  is  the  invisible,  infallible  enemy ;  it  devours 
France ;  it  is  in  the  heart  of  the  kingdom ;  it  is  the  master, 
despoiler,  and  king.  It  is  my  fortune  they  wish — am  I  not 
the  last  heir?  Let  them  keep  this  fortune,  I  shall  take  the 
vail.  I  am  afraid  to  die  at  seventeen.  My  God!  I  should 
like  to  live." 

Tears  sprang  from  Gabrielle's  eyes;  terror,  fever,  and 


238  THE  RENUNCIATION. 

despair  tortured  her.  Finally,  overcome  by  so  mamy  emo- 
tions, she  ended  by  closing  her  eyelids  and  going  to  sleep 
near  Suzanne. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

THE     RENUNCIATION. 

The  nocturnal  confessions  of  Gabrielle  had  drawn  her 
and  Suzanne  more  closely  together.  At  the  end  of  three 
weeks  it  seemed  as  if  they  had  always  known  each  other. 
Nothing  could  change  Gabrielle's  resolution;  she  was 
driven  at  the  same  time  by  fear  and  despair.  As  soon  as 
her  intention  to  take  the  vail  was  known  in  the  convent, 
the  superior  ordered  the  hastening  of  all  the  preparations 
for  the  ceremony.  The  family  was  notified,  the  friends 
invited,  and  the  day  chosen.  Gabrielle's  noviciate  was  not 
terminated,  but  a  dispensation  was  obtained  from  the 
Archbishop  of  Paris,  and  nothing  any  longer  stood  in  the 
way  of  her  pronouncing  the  vows.  Gabrielle's  misfortune 
had  turned  aside  Suzanne's  thoughts  from  their  natural 
course.  She  forgot  her  own  troubles  at  the  sight  of  so 
much  youth  allied  to  so  much  grief.  An  unexpected  visit 
obliged  her  to  recall  them.  The  evening  before  the  day  on 
which  Mademoiselle  de  Mesle  was  to  renounce  the  world 
for  devoting  herself  to  God,  Madame  d'Albergotti  was 
informed  by  a  sister  that  Monsieur  de  Charny  was  waiting 
for  her  in  the  parlor. 

"Already  a  month  has  passed,  madame,"  Monsieur  de 
Charny  said  to  her,  saluting  her  respectfully,  "since  Mon- 
sieur de  Louvois  regretfully  sent  you  to  the  convent, 
where  he  would  certainly  not  have  sent  you  if  reasons  of 
state  had  not  constrained  him  to  do  so." 

"If  the  regret  was  as  keen  as  you  say,  monsieiir,  it 
seems  to  me  that  the  minister  could  readilv  rid  himself  of 
it." 

"Ah!  madame,  how  little  you  know  the  harsh  laws 
which  power  imposes  on  those  who  exercise  it!  Above  the 
minister's  will,  there  are  reasons  of  state;  Monsieur  de 
Louvois  hoped  at  least  that  the  atmosphere  of  this  place 
would  induce  you  to  take  the  vail.  But,  in  defect  of  pro- 
fession for  that,  he  has  even  pushed  kindness  so  far  as  to 
make  you  an  offer  of  entering  his  family;  you  have  re- 
fused everything." 


THE  RENUNCIATION.  239 

"Not  being  the  ward  of  any  one,  I  have  the  right,  I  im- 
agine, to  think  of  my  own  establishment." 

"Certainly,  madame,  and  Monsieur  de  Louvois  would 
regret  to  thwart  your  intentions;  but  still  the  care  of  the 
kingdom  requires  you  to  take  a  determination." 

"The  care  of  the  kingdom,  monsieur — those  are  big 
words  for  so  insignificant  a  person  as  myself!" 

"The  enemies  of  the  king  utilize  everything,  madame. 
If  you  knew  to  what  unjust  attacks  eminent  men  are  ex- 
posed, you  would  see  all  this  affair  under  a  different  light, 
and  would  no  longer  accuse  Monsieur  de  Louvois,  who 
wishes  you  well.  But  if  you  continue  to  refuse  His  Excel- 
lency's good  offices,  he  will  be  forced  to  take  new  measures 
which  will  assure  at  the  same  time  your  repose  and  that  of 
the  state." 

"Tell  monseigneur  le  ministre  that  I  am  ready  to  suffer 
everything,  but  that  I  am  not  ready  to  give  way  to  any- 
thing." 

"Madame,"  replied  Monseiur  de  Charny,  saluting 
Madame  d'Albergotti,  who  had  already  risen,  "I  shall 
have  the  honor  to  see  you  again  in  a  month,  and  I  shall 
pray  God  that  your  resolutions  may  be  changed  by  that 
time." 

At  dawn  the  following  day  the  bells  of  the  convent  in 
the  Rue  du  Cherche-Midi  rang  a  full  peal.  The  ceremony 
of  taking  the  vail  was  a  religious  solemnity  quite  frequent 
at  the  time  when  this  story  transpires,  but  which  did  not 
fail  to  attract  a  great  crowd  on  each  occasion.  A  great 
number  of  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  of  the  court  were  to 
be  seen  there,  and  on  this  day  pomp  replaced  silence  and 
profound  meditation  in  the  chapels  and  cloisters. 

When  Mademoiselle  de  Mesle  entered  the  chapel  it  was 
filled  with  a  brilliant  assemblage  of  people.  A  sad  and  soft 
murmur  welcomed  her ;  she  was  so  beautiful  that  every 
one  pitied  her.  She  wore  upon  her  blonde  hair  a  crown  of 
white  flowers,  pearls  were  attached  to  her  neck  and  jewels 
to  her  arms,  belt,  and  dress.  She  traversed  the  church 
with  a  firm  step,  accompanied  by  Mother  Evangelique  and 
another  nun.  Monsieur  de  Mesle  and  the  members  of  his 
family  followed  her.  When  she  had  mounted  the  steps 
which  separated  the  nave  from  the  choir,  the  ceremony  be- 
gan. The  Archbishop  of  Paris  officiated.  Gabrielle  knelt 
down  upon  a  velvet  cushion  and  prayed.  The  chapel  was 
full  of  perfumes  and  flowers ;  the  organ  gave  forth  the  sweet- 
est airs ;  sisters  concealed  in  a  tribune  mixed  their  celestial 
voices  with  the  accords  of  the  instrument ;  it  was  a  divine 


240  THE  LAST  HOUE. 

harmony  that  charmed  the  ear  and  lulled  the  heart.  When 
mass  had  been  celebrated,  the  work  of  renunciation  began. 
A  sister  detached  the  flowers  which  decorated  the  forehead 
of  the  young  fiancee  of  heaven,  and  let  them  fall  upon  the 
marble;  another  untied  the  pearl  necklaces  and  diamond 
bracelets ;  and  the  jewels,  which  recalled  the  vanities  of 
this  world,  strewed  the  slabs  of  the  choir ;  the  knots  of 
ribbon  were  untied,  and  Gabrielle's  luxuriant  hair  was 
scattered  over  her  naked  shoulders.  A  ray  of  sunshine, 
gliding  through  the  windows,  enveloped  her  bowed  head 
with  an  aureole  and  played  in  the  floating  tresses  of  her 
long  blonde  hair.  A  sister  took  them  in  her  left  hand,  and 
with  the  right  she  cut  off  the  curls,  which  soon  covered 
the  dress  and  cushion.  The  archbishop  raised  the  cross 
toward  heaven,  and  with  his  extended  fingers  blessed  the 
crowd ;  the  sisters  prayed  in  chorus,  and  the  organ  rolled 
forth  its  waves  of  sound.  When  the  last  curl  of  hair  was 
cut  off,  Mother  Evangelique  threw  a  vail  over  Gabrielle's 
head,  the  songs  burst  forth,  and  the  grated  door  of  the 
choir  fell  back  upon  its  hinges.  Gabrielle  no  longer  be- 
longed to  the  world. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

THE  LAST  HOUR. 

The  day  after  Gabrielle  had  taken  the  vail,  Suzanne  en- 
countered Monsieur  de  Charny  upon  the  terrace  of  the 
convent;  Monsieur  de  Charny  made  her  a  profound  salute. 
Suzanne  bowed  and  passed  on.  The  sight  of  this  man  in- 
spired her  with  an  invincible  horror,  and  caused  her  to 
shudder  like  ;i  child  who  has  stepped  on  a  serpent.  On  her 
awakening  the  following  morning  she  found  upon  one  of 
the  chairs  in  her  room  a  complete  novice's  outfit;  the 
dress,  the  vail,  the  chaplet.  Her  clothing  of  the  evening 
before  had  disappeared ;  some  one  had  entered  during  her 
sleep  and  carried  it  off.  Suzanne  hesitated  a  moment  be- 
fore dressing  herself,  but  it  was  not  in  her  character  to 
revolt  for  small  things.  To  the  wretched  annoyances  of 
which  she  was  the  object,  she  opposed  unceasingly  a  calm 
forehead  and  a  pious  resignation. 

Since  the  day  on  which  Mademoiselle  de  Mesle  had  taken 
the  vail,  her  health,  already  bad,  grew  constantly  worse. 
Each  morning  Suzanne  was  frightened  to  notice  the  change 


THE  LAST  HOUR.  241 

in  her ;  her  cheeks  became  more  hollow,  the  bluish  circle 
which  framed  her  eyes  assumed  leaden  tints ;  her  wasted 
hands  were  dry  and  burning,  there  were  moments  when 
her  lips  had  the  pallor  of  the  vail  which  floated  over 
her  forehead.  She  accepted  remedies  only  from  Suzanne's 
hand ;  but  when  Suzanne  was  not  there,  she  poured  out 
the  liquor  and  smiled  bitterly  on  seeing  overflow  that 
which  was  to  bring  some  relief  to  her  malady.  One  day 
as  Suzanne  surprised  her  emptying  a  vial,  she  snatched  it 
from  her  fingers  and  constrained  her  to  take  what  was  left 
in  the  bottom  of  it. 

"Death  is  here!"  said  Gabrielle,  striking  with  the  end 
her  oppressed  breast;  "you  prolong  my  torture  by  some 
hours. ' ' 

"My  God!  you  shall  live,  my  poor  child,  you  shall  live!" 
exclaimed  Suzanne,  who  felt  herself  suffocated  by  tears. 

"And  why  do  you  wish  me  to  live?"  exclaimed  Gabri- 
elle, bursting  into  sobs;  "am  I  not  lost  to  him?" 

At  this  cry  Suzanne  understood  that  the  heart  of 
Gabrielle  was  not  less  sick  than  her  body.  Terror  and  love 
together  were  killing  her.  Suzanne  tenderly  embraced  her 
and  wished  to  give  back  a  little  hope  to  that  desolate  soul ; 
but  Gabrielle  kept  a  mournful  silence;  she  shook  her  head 
and  wept ;  toward  evening  Suzanne  put  her  to  bed  a  prey 
to  a  burning  fever.  She  passed  a  sleepless  night ;  but  in 
the  morning  Gabrielle  rose  and  was  the  first  one  to  go  to 
the  chapel ;  a  cold  sweat  covered  her  forehead  and  fever 
shone  in  her  looks.  The  unhappy  child  displayed  a  fright- 
ful energy  in  dying.  When  evening  came,  she  leaned  at 
times  upon  the  window  and  looked  at  the  setting  sun ;  the 
trees  of  the  park  were  surrounded  with  a  light  vapor,  the 
birds  pursued  each  other  in  the  branches,  the  leaves 
rustled,  and  on  the  horizon  were  to  be  seen  great  bands  of 
light  whose  reflections  inundated  the  sky  with  rosy  light. 
A  profound  ecstasy  was  depicted  upon  the  face  of  Gabri- 
elle, she  extended  her  hands  toward  space  and  said,  in  a 
trembling  voice: 

"My  God !  how  sweet  it  would  be  to  live  if  one  was  loved 
and  free!" 

Then  she  fell  upon  her  knees,  imploring  death.  A  day  came 
when  her  strength  was  unequal  to  her  courage ;  she  wished 
to  rise  at  the  first  sounds  of  the  bell,  but  her  knees  gave 
way,  and  Suzanne,  who  no  longer  quitted  her,  having 
raised  her  in  her  arms,  placed  her  in  bed  again.  The  doc- 
tor came  during  the  evening,  and,  having  examined  her, 
declared  that  she  would  not  live  through  the  next  day, 


242  THE  LAST  HOUE. 

''It  is  a  lamp  without  oil,"  said  he. 

During  the  whole  day  Gabrielle  had  many  times  turned 
her  sparkling  eyes  toward  Suzanne,  her  lips  had  opened  as 
if  she  had  had  something  to  confide  to  her,  then  her  eyes 
and  her  mouth  closed  again,  and  she  was  heard  praying 
quite  low  with  hands  clasped  over  her  heart,  in  the  austere 
attitude  of  the  marble  figures  seen  upon  tombs. 

When  night  came  Suzanne  was  left  alone  in  the  cell 
where  Gabrielle  was  dying.  The  silence  was  lugubrious ; 
the  oppressed  breathing  of  Gabrielle  had  given  way  to  a 
light  respiration,  which  no  longer  made  itself  heard.  Her 
eyelids  were  closed,  her  lips  no  longer  moved ;  she  seemed 
to  sleep.  Suzanne  piously  kissed  her  on  the  forehead  like 
a  mother  who  blesses  her  child ;  she  was  going  to  with- 
draw when  Gabrielle,  unclasping  her  hands,  placed  them 
around  Suzanne's  neck. 

"Remain  near  me,"  she  said,  in  a  whisper. 

Suzanne  sat  down  upon  the  edge  of  the  bed. 

"Listen  to  me,  Suzanne,"  continued  Gabrielle,  "I  have 
a  service  to  ask  of  you.  Do  you  promise  to  render  it  to 
me?" 

"I  promise  you." 

Gabrielle  meditated  for  a  moment,  then  searched  under 
the  lining  of  her  pillow ;  she  drew  forth  a  small  box  which 
contained  a  letter  and  a  tress  of  hair.  She  unfolded  the 
letter  and  pressed  it  to  her  lips ;  her  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

"Look,"  said  she,  "my  tears  have  almost  effaced  the 
handwriting.  For  three  years  I  have  been  living  on  this 
letter." 

"Poor  child,  she  is  dying  from  it!"  sighed  Suzanne. 

"It  is  all  that  I  have  of  his,"  continued  Gabrielle,  in  a 
sad  voice,  "I  have  not  seen  him  for  three  years,  and  he 
does  not  know  that  I  am  going  to  die." 

"Oh!  Gabrielle!  whoever  he  is,  if  he  had  known  this 
love,  he  would  have  saved  you. ' ' 

"He!  but  if  he  had  sought  me  in  marriage,  he  would 
have  been  killed!  I  have  preferred  to  die!"  exclaimed 
Gabrielle,  pressing  close  to  Suzanne. 

Suzanne  shivered. 

"This  is  how  this  love  came  about, "  continued  Gabrielle, 
drying  her  eyes.  "We  were  in  the  country,  on  our  Mesle 
estate,  near  Mantes,  my  father,  my  sister,  and  myself.  It 
was  the  happy  time.  The  Chevalier  d'Arraines — that  is  his 
name — came  to  pay  us  a  visit.  He  was  twenty-two  or 
three  years  of  age ;  he  was  amiable,  proud,  and  intelligent. 
The  sight  of  him  troubled  me  singularly,  and  the  whole 


THE  LAST  HOUR.  243 

night  I  could  not  keep  from  thinking  of  him.  This  trouble 
increased  on  the  following  days;  it  was  mixed  with  un- 
known sensations  which  delighted  me,  and  nevertheless  I 
dared  not  speak  of  it  to  my  mother  or  even  to  my  sister.  I 
do  not  know  whether  the  Chevalier  d'Arraines  noticed  it, 
but  it  appeared  to  me  that  on  every  occasion  when  the 
family  was  assembled  together  he  attached  himself  more 
particularly  to  me.  When  he  spoke  to  me,  his  voice  was 
soft  and  charming ;  when  he  looked  at  me,  his  eyes  had  an 
expression  which  touched  me  deeply.  One  evening — this 
evening  has  decided  my  life — he  met  me  in  an  avenue  of 
the  park  where  I  went  to  dream  all  alone.  On  seeing  him 
I  blushed,  and  felt  myself  tremble  without  knowing  why. 
He  came  to  me  and  took  my  hand ;  and  nevertheless  I 
made  no  effort  to  detach  myself  from  him.  He  spoke  to 
me  a  long  time;  he  said  to  me  those  things  which  one 
dares  not  hear  and  which  are  nevertheless  engraved  in  the 
depths  of  the  heart.  When  he  told  me  that  he  loved  me,  I 
thought  I  was  going  to  die  with  happiness.  All  at  once  we 
heard  walking  near  us ;  I  disengaged  my  hand  and  started 
to  fly ;  but  before  leaving,  I  dared  look  at  him ;  his  eyes 
were  so  tender  and  suppliant,  that  if  no  one  had  been  near, 
I  should  have  fallen  into  his  arms.  The  next  day  he  went 
away, "  continued  Gabrielle.  "His  father  sent  him  to  the 
army ;  but,  before  leaving,  the  Chevalier  d'Arraines  sent 
me  this  letter,  in  which  he  repeated  to  me  what  he  had 
said  to  me  the  evening  before." 

"And  since  then?"  questioned  Suzanne. 

"Since  then,  I  have  heard  nothing  more  of  him.  A  short 
time  after  his  departure,  my  mother  fell  sick,  then  died ; 
my  sister  followed  my  mother ;  the  little  child  died  also. 
Terror  seized  me,  frightful  dreams  peopled  my  sleep ;  at 
night  I  awoke  in  surprise,  bathed  in  tears,  and  it  seemed  to 
me  that  phantoms  touched  my  face  with  their  icy  hands. 
The  word  convent  was  murmured  in  my  ears,  I  was  told 
that  it  was  a  refuge ;  I  came  here.  Alas !  Suzanne,  you 
know  how  I  will  leave  it." 

Suzanne  no  longer  had  strength  to  reply ;  she  held  her 
friend  embraced  and  wept  over  her. 

"You,  Suzanne,"  said  Gabrielle,  "you  will  leave  here; 
one  day,  no  doubt,  you  will  meet  Monsieur  d'Arraines, 
happy,  perhaps,  and  no  longer  thinking  of  me.  You  will 
tell  him  that  you  have  seen  me,  you  will  show  him  at  the 
bottom  of  this  letter  some  words  which  I  have  written, 
and  you  will  give  him  this  tress  of  my  hair.  And  then  you 


244  THE  LAST  HOUR. 

will  tell  him  how  I  died.  If  he  weeps  over  me,  it  seems  to 
me  that  we  shall  not  be  separated  forever — . — " 

Suzanne  took  the  box  from  Gabrielle's  hands  and  con- 
cealed it  under  her  dress.  The  day  was  about  to  dawn, 
and  already  the  great  trees  were  to  be  seen  outlining  their 
dark  foliage  upon  the  transparent  sky.  This  long  narrative 
had  exhausted  Gabrielle ;  she  rested  her  head  upon  the 
pillow  and  closed  her  eyes.  Toward  noon,  she  called  for 
the  confessor.  Suzanne  ran  to  warn  the  superior,  the  bells 
of  the  convent  began  to  sound  the  funeral-knell,  and  the 
sisters  went  to  the  chapel,  where  soon  was  heard  the 
prayer  for  the  dying.  The  Abbe  St.  Thomas  d'Aquin,  who 
was  the  convent's  confessor,  went  to  Gabrielle's  cell, 
carrying  the  holy  viaticum  and  preceded  by  a  chorus 
child  who  shook  a  little  silver  bell.  Suzanne  opened  the 
door  to  the  pious  procession ;  those  of  the  sisters  who  were 
not  in  the  chapel  knelt  in  the  corridor,  and  Gabrielle, 
at  sight  of  the  man  of  God,  arose.  The  abbe,  who  was 
a  pious  and  kind  old  man,  approached  the  bed  where 
Gabrielle  was  lying.  The  dying  girl  joined  her  hands  and 
prepared  for  confession.  The  approach  of  death  had 
spread  over  all  her  features  an  ineffable  sweetness ;  a  soft 
smile  half  parted  her  lips,  and  the  virginal  candor  of  her 
forehead  had  a  grace  which  no  longer  belonged  to  earth. 
At  sight  of  this  child,  who  was  surrendering  untroubled 
her  soul  to  God,  the  old  cure  understood  that  he  had 
nothing  to  pardon. 

"Speak,  my  daughter,"  he  said  to  her,  in  a  kindly  tone; 
"soon  you  will  be  with  Him  who  consoles  and  blesses,  and 
you  will  pray  for  us. " 

Gabrielle  related  her  life  in  a  few  words ;  the  cure  had 
known  it  for  a  long  time ;  she  had  loved,  she  had  suffered, 
she  was  going  to  die.  No  other  noise  was  heard  than  the 
tinkling.of  the  little  silver  bell,  the  distant  murmur  of  the 
religious  songs  which  floated  in  the  air  like  a  celestial 
harmony,  and  the  stifled  sobs  of  the  young  novices  who 
were  weeping  around  Suzanne. 

"Go  in  peace,  you  who  have  not  sinned!"  said  the  abbe, 
extending  his  trembling  hands  over  the  bowed  forehead  of 
Gabrielle. 

The  holy  man  took  up  the  consecrated  wafer  and  pre- 
sented it  to  Gabrielle.  All  heads  were  bowed.  Mother 
Evangelique  alone  did  not  weep.  Gabrielle  smiled.  After 
Gabrielle  had  taken  the  wafer,  the  old  abbe  placed  in  her 
hands  a  little  ivory  crucifix.  Prayer  filled  the  conven^ 
•with  its  divine  murmurs.  Suzanne  looked  at  Gabrielle' 


AN  ENGLISH  HUSBAND.  245 

face,  with  eyes  full  of  affection  and  pressed  to  her  breast 
the  box  in  which  this  poor  girl  had  placed  all  her  heart. 
Through  the  narrow  window  was  seen  a  corner  of  the  blue 
sky  where  the  light  smiled;  the  trees  shivered,  and  the 
swallows  passed  uttering  joyous  cries.  The  noises  of  the  city 
mounted  like  a  vague  and  confused  sound.  Gabrielle  had 
the  air  of  one  going  to  sleep ;  her  face  was  calm  and  peace- 
ful as  that  of  a  child.  Toward  sunset  she  opened  her  eyes 
and  again  raised  herself.  Her  looks  sought  Suzanne,  at 
whom  she  smiled,  then  the  sky.  She  saw  the  purple 
horizon  and  the  yellow  light  which  shone  in  the  azure  dis- 
tance. She  pressed  the  Christ  to  her  white  lips,  stretched 
her  arm  toward  the  sky  and  fell  back,  dead.  All  the 
sisters  rose  with  saddened  hearts;  Suzanne  bounded  to 
Gabrielle's  bed  and  placed  her  trembling  hand  upon  the 
young  girl's  breast.  The  heart  no  longer  beat;  no  breath 
came  from  between  her  lips. 

"Let  us  pray  God,  my  sisters,"  said  the  priest,  throwing 
holy  water  upon  the  body  >f  her  who  was  no  more. 

And  everybody  knelt. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

AN    ENGLISH    HUSBAND. 

When  Claudine  reached  England,  accompanied  by  Grip- 
pard,  she  found  her  brother,  if  not  out  of  danger,  at  least 
almost  assured  of  getting  well.  The  ball  had  lodged  in  his 
breast  without  injuring  any  essential  part.  The  surgeon 
had  probed  the  wound  and  believed  that  he  could  answer 
for  the  patient,  unless  some  unexpected  accident  happened. 
Cornelius  had  chosen  a  small  cottage,  in  a  retired  quarter 
of  the  city,  far  from  the  noise  and  agitation  of  the 
port.  There  was  a  small  garden  around  the  house. 
The  surgeon  came  twice  or  thrice  a  day ;  and  Cornelius 
and  Deroute  took  turns  about  at  the  bedside  of  Belle-Rose. 
The  interview  of  Cornelius  and  Claudine  was  intermixed 
with  joy  and  tears ;  they  had  a  thousand  things  to  say  to 
each  other ;  but  Cornelius  begged  Claudine  to  say  nothing 
to  Belle-Rose  concerning  the  disappearance  of  Suzanne, 
saying  that  this  news  might  put  him  in  danger  of  death. 
The  days  flowed  away  sadly  between  these  three  persons. 
All  their  happiness  had  been  marred  just  at  the  time  when 
it  no  longer  seemed  to  have  anything  to  dread.  No  news 


246  AN  ENGLISH  HUSBAND. 

came  from  France;  Belle-Rose  recovered  slowly;  Grip- 
pard,  who  had  been  sent  back  to  Paris  to  learn  the  fate  of 
Suzanne,  had  not  written  a  single  time.  Cornelius  had 
Claudine  to  console  him ;  Claudine  had  Cornelius ;  but  De- 
route  had  for  aiding  his  patience  only  his  fury  against 
Bouletord.  He  passed  his  time  in  fuming  like  the  devil, 
and  it  was  a  pleasant  thing  to  see  the  contrast  between  his 
placid  face  and  the  horrible  oaths  which  he  heaped  up 
from  morning  to  evening.  As  Belle-Rose  began  to  con- 
valesce, he  asked  more  frequently  for  news  of  Suzanne, 
and  was  astonished  not  to  receive  it.  One  day  Deroute 
presented  himself  before  Cornelius  and  Claudine  all 
equipped,  with  great  boots,  a  cloak  upon  his  shoulder,  a 
rapier  at  his  side,  and  a  valise  under  his  arm. 

"Monsieur,"  said  he,  rapidly,  to  Cornelius,  like  a  man 
who  does  not  wish  to  suffer  any  objection,  "I  come  to  ask 
you  for  your  commissions  as  well  as  those  of  Mademoiselle 
Grinedal. " 

"Where  the  devil  are  your  going?" 

"To  Paris." 

"You  will  get  yourself  hung  there." 

"Bah!  balls  and  bullets  have  not  yet  caught  me,  and  it 
is  not  Bouletord  who  will  do  what  they  have  not  been  able 
to  do.  Hold,  monsieur,  treat  me  as  chicken-hearted  if  you 
wish,  but  my  captain's  complaints  have  wrung  my  heart; 
I  will  have  news  of  Suzanne,  I  will  know  what  Monsieur 
de  Louvois  has  done  with  her,  and  I  will  save  her  or  die  in 
the  attempt.  The  end  of  the  finger  or  only  a  letter  from 
Madame  d'Albergotti  are  worth  more  for  curing  my  cap- 
tain than  all  those  ingredients  of  every  kind  which  are 
placed  upon  his  wound." 

Claudine  and  Cornelius  each  pressed  one  of  Deroute's 
hands. 

"Go,"  they  said  to  him,  "and  may  God  guide  you." 

"Oh!"  said  he,  with  his  tranquil  smile,  "I  have  good 
feet,  good  eyes,  and  a  good  sword.  I  shall  have  gone  far 
when  Captain  Belle-Rose  comes  to  join  me." 

"How  join  you?  Do  you  wish  him,  then,  to  go  and  get 
imprisoned  in  the  Bastile  again?"  exclaimed  Cornelius. 

"Come!"  replied  Deroute,  "do  you  believe  that  my  cap- 
tain is  a  man  to  remain  with  arms  crossed  when  he  knows 
that  Madame  d'Albergotti  is  locked  up  in  a  convent? 
Would  you  detain  him  at  Dover?" 

"You  are  right,"  said  Claudine,  shaking  her  head, 
"Jacques  shall  leave." 

"Eh!  morbleu!  I  knew  it  well!  he  will  leave  as  soon  as 


AN  ENGLISH  HUSBAND.  247 

you  inform  him  of  it.  I  am  going  to  prepare  the 
rations." 

Deroute  embraced  Belle-Rose,  to  -whom  he  said  that  he 
•was  going  to  Paris  to  learn  how  their  affairs  were  getting 
along,  and  left  the  same  evening  upon  the  boat  of  a  fisher- 
man, who,  through  national  animosity,  was  going  to  take 
his  fish  upon  the  coast  of  France.  While  throwing  his 
nets  into  the  sea,  he  could  easily  throw  Deroute  upon  the 
shore. 

One  evening,  about  ten  o'clock,  while  Cornelius  and 
Belle-Rose  were  talking  in  Claudine's  presence,  they  heard 
in  the  street  a  great  clashing  of  swords  and  broken  cries. 
Cornelius  grabbed  his  sword  and  ran  to  the  door.  Belle- 
Rose  did  likewise. 

"Eh!  Jacques,  what  are  you  doing!"  exclaimed  Claudine; 
"your  wound  is  not  yet  closed." 

"Is  that  a  reason  for  letting  people  be  assassinated?"  re- 
plied Belle-Rose,  and  he  descended  the  stair-way  close 
behind  Cornelius. 

The  street  was  obscure,  it  was  an  out-of-the-way  place 
where  there  were  great  walls  inclosing  vast  gardens. 
Just  as  the  two  friends  opened  the  door  they  heard  calls 
for  aid. 

"It  is  a  Frenchman!"  said  Belle-Rose,  and  he  ran  toward 
the  place  from  which  the  cries  came. 

At  the  end  of  the  thirty  steps,  Cornelius  and  he  found 
themselves  before  three  or  four  men  who  were  attacking 
another  driven  into  the  corner  of  an  old  wall.  The  man 
attacked  made  a  buckler  of  his  cloak  rolled  around  his  left 
arm  and  answered  by  rapid  thrusts  all  those  which  were 
directed  against  him.  Though  he  showed  himself  skillful 
and  determined,  the  combat  carried  on  in  this  manner 
could  not  last  long.  Belle-Rose  and  Cornelius,  with  swords 
raised,  fell  upon  the  assailants,  who,  seeing  themselves 
surprised,  first  resisted  and  afterward  took  to  flight ;  one 
of  them,  struck  by  Belle-Rose,  tottered  a  few  steps  and 
fell  upon  his  knees.  His  comrades  retraced  their  steps, 
seized  him,  and  carried  him  away.  As  Belle-Rose  and  Cor- 
nelius were  making  ready  to  pursue  them,  the  stranger 
stopped  them. 

"Stop,"  he  said  to  them,  "I  know  those  brave  men." 

Cornelius  and  Belle-Rose,  thoroughly  astonished,  looked 
at  the  stranger. 

"Oh  1"  he  continued,  "it  is  a  little  quarrel  which  we  have 
had  together ;  I  will  relate  it  to  you,  if  you  will  kindly  add 
to  your  valiant  intervention  the  present  of  a  glass  of  water. 


248  AN  ENGLISH  HUSBAND. 

This  little  fight  has  warmed  me  up,  and  I  should  not  be 
vexed,  besides,  to  see  if  the  swords  of  those  good  fellows 
have  not  scratched  something  else  besides  my  coat." 

Belle-Eose  and  Cornelius  conducted  the  Frenchman  to 
their  lodgings,  where  they  found  Claudine  much  disturbed 
and  waiting  for  them  upon  the  door-step.  When  the  light 
in  the  room  struck  them,  they  perceived  that  Belle-Rose 
had  his  shirt  and  trousers  all  covered  with  blood. 

"Are  you  wounded?"  the  stranger  cried. 

"I  do  not  think  so,  monsieur;  it  is  a  recent  wound 
which  has  opened  again  during  the  action. 

"It  is  still  blood  shed  for  me, "  said  the  stranger ;  "blood 
is  a  tie  that  unites." 

And  he  extended  his  hand  to  Belle-Rose,  who  pressed  it. 
After  examination,  the  stranger  found  that  he  had  five  or 
six  scratches ;  his  cloak,  having  done  nearly  all  the  parry- 
ing, was  horribly  torn. 

"Messieurs,"  said  the  stranger,  saluting,  "I  am  the 
Comte  de  Pomereux,  envoy  of  Monsieur  de  Louvois. " 

At  this  announcement  the  two  friends  exchanged  a 
rapid  glance. 

"In  faith,  monsieur,"  replied  Belle-Rose,  "will  you  par- 
don me  if  I  do  not  imitate  3rour  frankness?  I  am  a  French- 
man, like  yourself,  but  grave  motives  oblige  me  to  conceal 
my  name." 

"The  arm  answers  for  the  heart,"  said  Monsieur  de 
Pomereux;  "the  rest  does  not  concern  me." 

At  the  name  of  Monsieur  de  Pomereux,  Claudine  had 
trembled  and  furtively  looked  at  him.  She  went  about 
the  room,  preparing  glasses  of  sugared  wine  and  com- 
presses ;  then,  when  everything  was  ready,  she  withdrew, 
fearing  to  be  recognized  by  the  count,  who  had  seen  her 
sometimes  at  Malzonvilliers.  This  might  be  a  vexatious 
discovery  on  the  part  of  an  envoy  of  Monsieur  de  Louvois. 

"Monsieur,"  said  Monsieur  de  Pomereux,  addressing 
himself  to  Cornelius,  when  Claudine  had  moved  away, 
"the  people  of  your  nation — for,  by  your  accent,  I  imagine 
that  you  are  English " 

"Irish,  monsieur,"  replied  Cornelius. 

"Exactly;  I  only  missed  it  by  a  strait;  the  people  of 
your  nation,  I  say,  have  strange  manners.  I  came  near 
being  killed  because  it  seemed  to  me  that  certain  women 
of  this  country  had  the  impertinence  to  be  as  pretty  as 
Frenchwomen. " 

"What!  for  that  only?"  said  Belle-Rose. 

"Eh!  my  God!  yes.    It  is  a  supposition  of  which  I  know 


AN  ENGLISH  HUSBAND.  249 

the  right  or  wrong.  Now,  being  at  Dover,  waiting  for  a 
dispatch  from  our  embassador  at  London,  I  came  across 
one  of  these  Englishwomen  who  would  not  have  been  out 
of  place  at  the  court  of  our  great  king.  I  was  growing 
very  weary,  and,  to  pass  away  the  time  in  a  useful  man- 
ner, I  employed  my  mind  to  penetrate  to  the  lady's 
domicile." 

"Always  foi  the  study  which  interested  you?"  said 
Cornelius. 

"Always,  monsieur.  I  succeeded  therein,  and  I  was  able 
to  convince  myself  that  the  ladies  of  the  good  city  of 
Dover  know  how  to  appreciate  that  little  merit  which  1 
have  acquired  at  the  court  of  our  glorious  monarch.  It 
was  a  discovery  which  was  about  to  reconcile  me  to  Eng- 
land, when  the  husband — for  there  is  a  husband,  mes- 
sieurs  " 

"There  is  always  a  husband,"  observed  Belle-Rose, 
whom  the  pleasant  humor  of  Monsieur  de  Pomereux 
diverted. 

"Oftentimes  there  are  even  two  of  them ;  the  known  and 
the  unknown,  who  is  at  times  the  cousin.  Here  there  was 
only  one,  but  he  was  doubled  by  two  brothers  and  a 
brother-in-law.  I  do  not  know  who  made  to  all  of  these 
relatives  reports  concerning  the  honesty  of  my  relations 
with  the  lady,  which  were  all  for  the  love  of  science.  The 
husband  spread  the  rumor  that  he  was  going  to  leave  for 
London ;  and  while,  confiding  in  his  word,  I  went  to  intro- 
duce myself  into  the  lady's  home,  he  attached  me  with 
the  aid  of  his  relatives.  Had  it  not  been  for  you,  mes- 
sieurs, I  would  have  been  left  on  the  field." 

"That  would  have  been  unfortunate  for  science, "  said 
Cornelius,  gravely. 

"It  is  a  monstrous  proceeding,  monsieur!"  exclaimed 
the  count,  with  a  comic  indignation.  "It  is  one  of  those 
things  which  are  not  permitted  in  France.  Ah!  fie!  to 
•wish  to  kill  a  man  because  he  pays  court  to  your  wife ;  but 
there  is  no  security  here  for  lovers.  What !  a  man  pretends 
to  leave,  even  goes  away,  then  returns  by  stealth,  hides 
behind  a  wall,  and  when  the  lover  comes  tranquilly  forth, 
all  at  once  pounces  upon  him,  storming  and  swearing,  in 
order  to  massacre  him.  It  is  a  savage,  barbarous,  Mussul- 
manic  proceeding!" 

"It  really  is, "  observed  Cornelius.  "A  well-informed 
husband  would  have  extended  a  ladder  to  assist  you  in 
climbing  to  his  balcony." 


260  AN  ENGLISH  HUSBAND. 

"Oh!  pardieu!  I  did  not  ask  so  much  of  him,  and  I  would 
have  been  satisfied  if  he  had  only  remained  tranquil. ' ' 

"That  is  honest." 

"The  fact  is  that  my  coat  is  all  slashed  as  a  result  of  it. 
A  coat  which  I  had  brought  expressly  from  Paris,  and  one 
which  has  no  counterpart  at  Dover;  this  calls  for  ven- 
geance." 

"Bless  me!"  said  Cornelius,  "if  he  has  spoiled  your 
satin,  I  have  every  reason  to  believe,  from  the  color  of 
your  sword,  that  you  have  slightly  spoiled  his  flesh.  It 
seems,  then,  that  you  are  quits." 

"Faith,  monsieur,  you  do  not  much  esteem  satin  cut  in 
the  most  gallant  fashion.  And  then,  the  gentleman  whom 
monsieur  struck,"  added  he,  turning  in  the  direction  of 
Belle-Rose,  "will  certainly  recollect  the  adventure." 

"I  am  enchanted  to  have  come  to  your  aid,"  said  Belle- 
Rose,  "but  I  should  much  regret  to  have  killed  him." 

"Oh!  fear  nothing,  he  is  the  husband.  This  sort  of  Eng- 
lishman is  very  tough.  After  all,"  continued  Monsieur  de 
Pomereux,  "the  adventure  has  this  good  side — it  will 
determine  me  to  pass  over  to  France.  I  am  cured  of  Brit- 
tanic  good  fortune ;  here  the  only  way  to  love  is  with  a 
dagger  in  the  hand.  I  shall  return  to  Paris  and  get 
married." 

"You?"  said  Cornelius. 

"Parbleu!  I  shall  be,  upon  my  word,  a  marvelous  hus- 
band. It  is  a  marriage  which  I  have  contracted  a  taste  for 
because  the  lady  does  not  wish  it.  It  is  Monsieur  de  Lou- 
vois'  way." 

"Ah!"  said  Belle-Rose. 

"He  is  a  minister  who  mixes  a  little  in  everything.  He 
has  had  the  triumphant  idea  of  giving  me  for  wife  a  lady 
whom  he  has  placed  in  a  convent." 

At  these  words,  Cornelius  pricked  up  his  ears. 

"That  is  pleasant,"  said  he. 

"Yes,  it  is  a  little  vengeance  of  my  magnificent  cousin. 
It  appears  that  the  lady  has  for  fiance  a  certain  Belle-Rose 
who  has  escaped  from  prison." 

It  was  Belle-Rose's  turn  to  tremble. 

"Belle-Rose!"  he  exclaimed. 

"You  know  him?"  asked  the  count. 

Cornelius  pressed  Belle-Rose's  knee  in  order  to  constrain 
him  to  be  silent. 

"Oh!"  said  he,  "I  have  known  him  in  Flanders,  when 
he  was  sergeant  in  the  regiment  of  La  Ferte." 

"Sergeant!"  repeated  Monsieur  de  Pomereux,  with  a 


AN  ENGLISH  HUSBAND.  251 

disdainful  air.  "Ah,  come!  what  sort  of  a  man  is  he, 
then?" 

"A  man  almost  of  my  stature  and  my  air,  who  handles 
the  sword  passably  well,  and  who  passes  for  a  very  honest 
soldier." 

"Ah!  ah!  and  it  is  this  gentleman  who  has  made  himself 
loved  by  Madame  d'Albergotti?" 

"She  still  loves  him,  then?"  exclaimed  Belle-Rose,  in  a 
voice  filled  with  emotion. 

"Does  she  love  him?  Say,  rather,  that  she  adores  him. 
It  is  incredible  that  women  should  have  such  ideas.  I  who 
speak  to  you,  a  count,  a  relative  of  Monsieur  de  Louvois, 
and  who  will  nave  a  regiment  some  day,  have  been  re- 
fused by  Madame  d'Albergotti." 

"Noble  heart!"  said  Belle-Rose,  in  a  low  tone. 

"Ah!  you  think  so!"  said  Monsieur  de  Pomereux,  who 
had  heard  him.  "Well,  faith!  I  have  done  like  you — and 
what  is  stranger,  it  is  that  I  have  come  to  esteem  her 
much.  Yes,  upon  my  word.  She  has  appeared  to  me  so 
simple,  so  chaste  in  all  things  that  I  have  fallen  unre- 
servedly in  love  with  her." 

"Ah,  bah!"  said  Cornelius,  who  pressed  Belle-Rose's 
arm. 

"Faith,  'tis  true,  or  almost  so.  The  duse!  I  am  a  gentle- 
man, and  I  do  not  wish  her  to  die  in  a  convent." 

"She  shall  not  die  there,"  said  Belle-Rose,  in  a  deep 
tone. 

"That  is  also  my  opinion,"  said  Monsieur  de  Pomereux; 
"unfortunately  it  is  not  the  opinion  of  a  certain  Monsieur 
de  Charny,  to  whom  my  precious  cousin  has  committed 
the  care  of  this  affair. ' ' 

"Monsieur  de  Charny?"  repeated  Belle-Rose. 

"A  certain  rascal  capable  of  everything,  venomous  as  a 
viper,  and  tenacious  as  glue.  When  he  is  in  conference 
with  Monsieur  de  Louvois,  I  am  always  afraid  for  some 
one." 

"But  what  harm  has  Madame  d'Albergotti  done  him?" 

"Him?  nothing;  but  Monsieur  de  Charny  is  a  man  who 
shares  the  hates  of  the  minister  as  one  does  those  of  a 
mistress." 

"What  a  wretch!"  said  Cornelius. 

"He  is  a  wretch  such  as  is  necessary,  they  say,  to  the 
viziers  given  us  by  the  caprice  of  our  gracious  monarch ; 
mute  as  tbe  tomb,  ready  at  any  hour,  impenetrable  as 
night.  Eh !  messieurs !  these  scoundrels  have  their  usea 


252  AN  ENGLISH  HUSBAND. 

For  the  rest,  thanks  to  my  relationship  with  our  illustrious 
minister,  he  is  to  some  extent  my  friend." 

"Monsieur  de  Charny?" 

"Eh!  my  God,  yes.  Only,  when  he  does  me  the  honor  to 
eat  at  my  table,  as  soon  as  he  is  gone  I  have  thrown  out  at 
the  window  all  that  he  has  touched,"  replied  Monsieur  de 
Pomereux,  rising. 

He  arranged  the  knots  of  his  ribbons,  readjusted  his 
cloak,  took  up  his  felt  hat,  which  he  had  placed  upon  a 
piece  of  furniture,  and  extended  his  hand  to  the  two 
friends. 

"I  am  going  to  France,  messieurs,"  he  said  to  them; 
"recollect  that  if  ever  you  have  need  of  a  purse  or  a 
sword,  whatever  the  occasion  may  be,  day  or  night,  far  or 
near,  the  Comte  de  Pomereux  places  himself  entirely  at 
your  disposal." 

As  he  pronounced  these  words  the  count  saluted  Cornelius 
and  Belle-Rose  with  a  grace  and  a  nobility  which  made  the 
two  friends  conceive  a  better  opinion  of  his  character. 
When  he  had  withdrawn,  Belle-Rose  called  Claudine. 

"Sister,"  he  said  to  her,  "we  leave  to-morrow." 

At  the  gesture  which  she  made,  Belle-Rose  interrupted 
her  by  a  word: 

"I  know  all." 

"Yes,"  continued  Cornelius,  "Monsieur  de  Pomereux 
has  related  everything  to  him." 

"Then  you  knew  it  and  did  not  say  anything  to  me!" 
said  Belle- Rose,  with  an  accent  of  reproach. 

"Death  was  hovering  over  you — could  we  speak?"  said 
Cornelius. 

"And  even  now,"  added  Claudine,  "you  are  scarcely 
able  to  walk." 

"I  would  have  to  be  nailed  tip  in  a  coffin  to  stay  here!" 
exclaimed  Belle-Rose. 

The  accent  of  his  voice  and  the  expression  of  his  face 
permitted  no  objection. 

"It  is  understood, "  said  Cornelius;  and  he  added,  lean- 
ing toward  Claudine:  "Deroute  knew  what  he  was  talking 
about." 

The  preparations  were  soon  made.  They  packed  clothes 
in  a  valise,  procured  themselves  some  coarse  wearing  ap- 
parel, placed  gold  in  a  belt,  provided  themselves  with 
arms,  and  they  found  next  day  one  of  those  hospitable 
fishermen  eroing  to  fish  upon  the  coasts  of  France,  who  con- 
sented to  take  the  three  young  people  with  him.  It  was  a 
good  action  which  brought  him  in  ten  pounds  sterling. 


THE  SIEGE  OP  THE  CONVENT.  253 

CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

THE  SIEGE  OF   THE  CONVENT. 

Belle-Rose,  Cornelius,  and  Claudine  arrived  at  Paris 
without  any  startling  adventure.  They  had  disguised 
themselves  so  as  not  to  he  recognized,  and  the  very  au- 
dacity of  their  enterprise  protected  them.  It  was  almost 
impossible  that  Monsieur  de  Louvois  should  suppose  for 
one  moment  that  Belle-Rose  would  dare  present  himself  so 
soon  in  France.  When  Belle-Rose  entered  Paris,  Deroute 
had  already  been  there  fifteen  days.  The  honest  sergeant 
had  not  lost  time.  After  having  prowled  around  Mon- 
sieur de  Louvois'  hotel,  questioning  the  people  who 
might  give  him  some  information  concerning  the  object  of 
his  researches,  he  understood  the  usefulness  of  this  es- 
pionage. So  many  carriages  left  the  court  at  every  hour 
of  the  day  and  night  that  the  neighbors,  seeing  them  all, 
did  not  recollect  any  particular  one  of  them.  Deroute 
turned  his  batteries  in  another  direction.  The  prowess  of 
Bouletord,  who  had  made  such  advances  in  the  minister's 
favor,  ought,  perhaps,  to  render  him  the  messenger  of 
private  commissions.  Deroute  was  so  successful  as  to 
promptly  discover  the  quartermaster,  and  no  longer 
quitted  him.  During  three  days  he  traversed  the  half  of 
Paris,  following  close  upon  the  heels  of  Bouletord;  but 
Bouletord,  who  stopped  a  little  everywhere,  did  not  stop 
before  any  convent.  Deroute  began  to  ask  himself  if  he 
would  not  do  well  to  wait  for  Bouletord  at  the  corner  of 
some  passage,  and  to  force  him  to  confess  his  secret  with  a 
poniard  at  his  threat,  when  one  evening  Grippard,  who 
had  also  attached  himself  to  Bouletord,  in  company  with 
whom  he  paid  a  visit  to  all  the  cabarets  of  Paris,  came  all 
out  of  breath  to  inform  him  that  Bouletord  was  to  carry  a 
dispatch  the  next  day  to  one  of  the  convents  of  Paris. 

"I  have  it!"  said  Deroute,  embracing  Grippard. 

Early  the  next  morning  he  was  at  the  door  of  Boule- 
tord's  barrack,  dressed  as  a  lackey.  When  Bouletord 
went  out,  Deroute  placed  himself  on  his  track  and  only 
quitted  him  at  the  door  of  the  convent  in  the  Rue  du 
Cherche-Midi.  This  convent  had  an  immense  extent ;  its 
garden  even  stretched  as  far  as  the  Rue  de  Vangirard  on 
one  side,  and  on  the  other  occupied  the  grounds  over 
which  the  exterior  boulevard  has  come  later  on,  De'route 


254  THE  SIEGE  OF  THE  CONVENT. 

went  around  the  convent ;  the  walls  were  high,  thick,  and 
impenetrable,  but  Deroute  had  set  out  to  see  what  could 
be  seen,  even  if  he  did  not  penetrate  inside  the  convent. 

"If  Madame  d'Albergotti  is  in  the  convent,  she  must 
sometimes  walk  in  the  gardens ;  let  there  be  a  little  corner 
where  1  can  conceal  myself,  and  I  will  manage  to  see  her," 
he  said  to  himself. 

As  he  was  still  speaking,  he  spied  a  high  house  provided 
with  a  garret,  the  window  of -which  gave  upon  the  gardens 
of  the  convent.  The  distance  which  separated  the  gardens 
from  this  window  was  great;  but  Deroute  had  the  eyes  of 
a  lynx.  He  ran  to  this  house  and  knocked.  It  was  an  old 
woman  who  opened  the  door. 

"Madame,"  Deroute  said  to  her,  "you  see  what  I  am 
from  my  dress;  I  am  in  the  employ  of  some  honest  people 
who  live  near  here,  in  the  Rue  de  Sevres.  My  employers 
are  in  the  country,  the  house  is  being  overhauled,  and 
while  waiting  for  the  completion  of  the  task,  I  am  looking 
out  for  a  room  which  I  can  occupy.  I  have  money,  madarae, 
and  I  pay  in  advance." 

Upon  which  Deroute  slipped  two  crowns  into  the  old 
woman's  hand. 

"This  comes  in  just  right,"  replied  the  old  woman; 
"we  have  a  pretty  cabinet  to  rent  which  will  suit  you 
wonderfully  well." 

This  pretty  cabinet  was  a  frightful  hole,  but  Deroute 
affirmed  upon  his  honor  that  he  had  never  seen  such  a 
charming  retreat  and  so  well  furnished  with  all  the  com- 
modities of  life;  he  was  astonished  that  such  an  apartment 
could  be  rented  for  two  crowns.  The  old  lady  then  with- 
drew, and  the  honest  sergeant  having  carefully  bolted  the 
door,  ran  to  the  post  of  observation.  He  remained  at  the 
window  till  nightfall  and  returned  the  next  day  at  dawn; 
he  only  quitted  it  to  swallow  a  piece  of  steak  which  the 
old  woman  had  prepared  for  him  and  which  he  declared 
the  most  succulent  in  the  world.  This  proceeding  lasted 
three  days.  Deroute  had  seen  thirty  or  forty  nuns 
and  twenty  novices,  but  not  one  of  them  resembled 
Madame  d'Albergotti.  Finally,  on  the  fourth  day,  he 
perceived  a  nun  whose  figure  made  him  tremble  at  the 
first  step  she  made  upon  the  terrace.  The  sergeant  leaned 
out  of  the  window  and  clapped  his  hands.  The  nun  turned 
around,  and  he  recognized  her  perfectly.  To  see  her  was 
an  easy  thing — but  it  was  a  question  of  getting  her  out  of 
the  convent.  This  is  what  Deroute  employed  his  imagina- 
tion to  do.  He  began  by  dispatching  his  aide-de-camp 


THE  SIEGE  OF  THE   CONVENT.  255 

Grippard  to  Bouletord,  with  a  mission  to  get  himself  re- 
ceived in  the  police.  It  was  an  honest  means  of  pene- 
trating the  secrets  of  the  quartermaster,  and  to  be  fore- 
warned in  case  there  was  any  plot  to  carry  off  Madame 
d'Albergotti  to  some  other  convent.  As  to  himself,  he 
resolved  to  enter  the  house  of  the  Benedictine  nuns  as  a 
gardener.  He  was  at  this  point  in  his  projects  when  Belle- 
Rose,  Cornelius,  and  Claudine  arrived.  Deroute  had  taken 
care,  on  leaving,  to  give  Cornelius  an  address  where  he 
could  find  him ;  it  was  an  inn  in  the  Rue  des  Bourgeois- 
St.  Michel,  at  the  sign  of  the  Roi  David.  Deroute  went 
there  every  evening  under  divers  costumes,  and  passed  an 
hour  or  two  there  in  seeing  the  frequenters  of  the  place 
play  cards  and  dice.  The  evening  on  which  Cornelius  en- 
tered the  hostelry  of  the  Roi  David,  he  had  some  difficulty 
in  recognizing  the  sergeant,  who  had  on  a  black  wig  and  a 
magnificent  beard.  Belle-Rose  was  waiting  in  the  street. 

"I  know  where  she  is,"  Deroute  said  to  him,  as  soon  as 
he  perceived  him ;  and  he  related  what  he  had  done. 

Belle-Rose  embraced  him. 

"There  are  three  of  us,"  said  he;  "neither  bars,  walls, 
nor  doors,  nor  locks  can  stop  us." 

It  was  first  necessary  to  make  arrangements  for  taking 
a  lodging  where  importunate  visits  were  not  to  be  dreaded. 
Belle-Rose  at  once  named  Monsieur  Meriset. 

"I  have  been  there  too  often  for  them  to  think  of  look- 
ing for  me  there,"  said  he. 

And  they  all  took  the  way  to  the  Rue  du  Pot-de-Fer  St. 
Sulpice.  On  seeing  Belle-Rose,  Monsieur  Meriset  witnessed 
great  surprise. 

"And  the  Bastile?"  he  murmured,  in  a  stifled  voice. 

"Well,  what  of  the  Bastile?" 

"You  have  gone  there?" 

"And  I  have  left  it." 

"Quite  sure?" 

"You  see  for  yourself,"  said  Belle-Rose,  laughing. 

"Yes,  yes,  it  is  indeed  you.  But  pardon  my  hesitation; 
there  are  people  skillful  enough  to  assume  all  sorts  of 
figures." 

"Certainly." 

"This  dear  Monsieur  Belle-Rose — I  am  delighted  to  see 
him  again.  So  you  come  to  lodge  with  me?" 

"Yes,  my  good  Monsieur  Meriset.  Where  shall  I  find  a 
better  host.  But,  you  understand,  for  special  reasons  I 
desire  not  to  be  known;  you  will  not  name  me," 


256  THE  SIEGE  OF  THE  CONVENT. 

"I  understand,"  said  Monsieur  Meriset ;  "it  is  again  for 
affairs  of  state." 

"As  you  wish.     It  is  agreed,  is  it  not?" 

"The  house  is  yours." 

Deroute  had  taken  care  not  to  give  up  the  cabinet  where 
he  had  established  his  observatory.  Jt  might  be  a  means 
of  establishing  communications  with  the  interior  of  the 
convent,  as  soon  as  it  could  be  made  known  to  Suzanne 
that  her  friends  were  seeking  her.  Belle-Eose's  impatience 
did  not  permit  him  to  wait;  he  set  out  to  invest  the  place 
the  very  next  day.  The  plan  of  the  campaign  was  the 
invention  of  Claudine.  She  dressed  like  an  Irishwoman, 
and  mounting  the  carriage  with  Cornelius,  she  had  herself 
taken  to  the  convent  in  the  Rue  du  Cherche-Midi.  Cor- 
nelius, who  was  from  Connaught,  spoke  English  almost  as 
well  as  if  he  had  been  from  Middlesex.  Claudine  had 
quickly  learned  the  tongue  of  her  betrothed,  and  she 
already  spoke  it  with  ease.  They  arrived  before  the  door 
of  the  convent,  where,  after  having  rang,  they  were  re- 
ceived by  the  attendant. 

"Will  you,"  Cornelius  said  to  her,  with  an  English  ac- 
cent too  pronounced  not  to  be  affected,  request  the  superior 
to  kindly  come  down  to  the  parlor." 

"Is  it  for  a  pressing  affair?"  asked  the  attendant. 

"You  will  say  to  her  that  it  is  a  question  of  a  young 
lady,  whom  her  brother,  an  Irish  gentleman,  intends  to 
leave  at  the  convent,  where,  if  she  chooses,  she  can 
renounce  her  rank." 

At  these  words  the  attendant  bowed,  and,  making  the 
two  strangers  sit  down,  disappeared  through  a  little  door 
which  opened  upon  a  gallery. 

"This  is  the  way  we  must  introduce  ourselves,"  said 
Claudine,  quite  low  to  Cornelius,  when  they  were  alone ; 
"you  are  my  brother,  your  name  is  Sir  Balph  Hastings, 
and  I  am  Miss  Harriet  Hastings,  your  sister ;  I  am  seized 
with  a  great  devotion  which  leads  me  to  enter  a  con- 
vent." 

After  a  moment  the  attendant  came  back  and  showed 
Claudine  and  Cornelius  into  the  parlor.  The  superior  was 
there. 

"I  have  been  informed  of  the  object  of  your  visit  to  this 
holy  house, "  said  Mother  Evangelique;  "we  never  refuse 
to  open  our  arms  to  hearts  which  wish  to  consecrate  them- 
selves to  God." 

"I  thank  you,  my  mother,"  replied  Claudine,  in  a  sweet 
voice  which  seemed  to  come  froir  an  English  mouth, 


THE  SIEGE  OF  THE  CONVENT.  257 

"You  will  be  sheltered  here  from  the  snares  of  the 
world.  This  is  a  house  in  which  peace  reigns." 

"My  sister  has  the  wish,"  said  Cornelius;  "I  will 
not  hide  the  fact,  madame,  that  her  family  and  myself 
have  opposed  it  a  long  time. ' ' 

"It  is  to  stand  in  the  way  of  the  Lord,  my  son." 

"That  is  what  I  have  understood  later  on,  and  to-day  I 
no  longer  desire  to  turn  her  from  her  project.  I  have  set 
aside  the  part  which  falls  to  her  from  her  mother's  estate, 
and  this  shall  be  her  dowry ;  there  is,  in  all,  eight  thou- 
sand pounds  sterling." 

"Eight  thousand  pounds  sterling?"  repeated  Mother 
Evangelique. 

"Eight  thousand  pounds,"  continued  Cornelius,  negli- 
gently, "this  makes  a  round  sum  of  two  hundred  thousand 
francs. ' ' 

"We  never  look  at  the  dowry,"  said  the  superior;  "the 
heart  is  the  only  wealth  which  the  Madonna  desires ;  but 
this  money  will  aid  us  in  doing  good." 

The  conversation  continued  upon  this  footing  some  mo- 
ments still;  after  which  Cornelius,  drawing  from  his 
pocket  a  purse  in  which  there  were  almost  fifty  louis, 
asked  the  superior  to  accept  it  for  distribution  as  alms. 

Claudine  did  not  feel  any  joy  in  penetrating  the  interior 
of  the  convent ;  she  looked  everywhere  to  see  if  she  could 
not  perceive  Suzanne ;  but,  on  this  day,  she  had  to  content 
herself  with  the  pleasure  of  simply  sleeping  under  the 
same  roof.  Suzanne  did  not  appear  in  the  refectory.  But 
the  next  day,  at  the  morning  prayer,  she  recognized  Su- 
zanne among  the  novices.  She  was  kneeling  with  her 
companions  upon  the  marble,  and  her  forehead  was  bowed 
over  her  clasped  hands.  Claudine  wept  over  her  prayer- 
book.  Presently  the  ceremony  came  to  a  conclusion,  the 
last  songs  died  undsr  the  sonorous  vaults;  Claudine  aban- 
doned her  chair  and  went  to  where  the  nuns  passed  along, 
followed  by  the  novices.  Suzanne  was  one  of  the  last  of 
the  procession ;  as  she  passed  before  Claudine,  with  fore- 
head lowered  and  hands  crossed  over  her  heart,  Claudine 
lightly  touched  with  the  end  of  her  fingers  the  long  dress 
of  Madame  d'Albergotti ;  Suzanne  turned  her  eyes  and  en- 
countered the  brilliant  glance  of  Claudine,  who  had  one 
finger  upon  her  lips  to  command  silence.  The  procession 
pushed  Suzanne  forward,  she  continued  her  silent  walk; 
but  this  morning  she  did  not  leave  the  chapel  without 
blessing  God.  Suzanne  did  not  stay  in  her  cell  on  this  day. 
About  noon  she  descended  to  the  garden  and  traversed  the 


258  THE  GARDENEK'S  NEPHEW. 

walks  nearest  the  entrance  door.  At  the  end  of  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  she  met  Claudine,  who  was  walking  by  the 
side  of  a  nun.  They  exchanged  a  glance  and  passed  on. 

The  next  day  Claudine  went  to  the  gardens  unaccom- 
panied by  any  one.  As  soon  as  she  saw  Suzanne,  she 
plunged  into  the  most  somber  part  of  the  gardens  where 
the  shade  of  the  elms  was  thickest.  Light  steps  were 
heard  behind  her,  and  Suzanne  ran  up  to  her  with  ex- 
tended arms.  The  two  friends  embraced  each  other  with 
tears  in  their  eyes. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

THE  GARDENER'S  NEPHEW. 

After  the  first  effusions  of  a  mutual  affection  which  ab- 
sence had  increased,  Suzanne  took  Claudine's  hands  in 
hers. 

"Come,  Claudine,  hide  nothing  from  me ;  Belle-Rose " 

"Would  I  be  joyous  if  he  was  not  here?"  exclaimed  the 
young  girl. 

"Here!"  repeated  Suzanne,  who  became  pale  with  hap- 
piness. 

"We  are  all  here;  my  brother,  Cornelius,  Deroute,  and 
our  poor  Grippard  also;  it  is  a  conspiracy." 

"Tell  me  about  it  quickly." 

"I  will,  but  not  here." 

Claudine  took  Suzanne's  arm  and  went  to  the  center  of 
the  park,  where  there  was  an  arbor  from  which  they 
could  escape  in  case  of  surprise. 

"Now  the  enemy  can  come,"  said  Claudine,  sitting 
down. 

Suzanne  had  the  details  repeated  twenty  times;  but 
Claudine  finally  interrupted  her. 

"You  cause  me  to  lose  precious  time,"  said  she;  "it  is 
first  necessary  to  deliver  you." 

"That  is  quite  difficult!  I  have  so  many  enemies  who 
hate  me!" 

"But  you  have  so  many  friends  who  love  you!" 

"I  have  four  of  them." 

"Do  you  know  many  people  who  can  say  as  much?" 

"Pardon  me,  Claudine;  liberty  with  you  would  be  hap- 
piness, and  I  have  suffered  so  much  that  I  no  longer 
believe  in  it." 

"I  leave  to  Jacques  the  care  of  making  you  believe  in  it, 


THE  GARDENER'S  NEPHEW.  259 

and  it  is  a  care  of  which  he  will  willingly  acquit  himself. 
But  let  us  no  longer  speak  of  this;  in  what  part  of  the 
convent  are  you  lodged?" 

"In  the  right  wing;  you  can  see  my  room  from  here. 
Down  there  at  the  end." 

'It  is  twenty  feet  from  the  ground." 

'Almost." 

'If  need  be  you  can  descend  with  your  bed-clothes  tied 
together?" 

'I  believe  so;  but  there  are  dogs." 

'Castor  and  Pollux." 

'Ah!  you  know  them?" 

'I  know  everything." 

'Then  you  know  that  they  are  turned  loose  at  night." 

'Perfectly.     Do  you  recollect  mythology,  Suzanne?" 

'A  little." 

'Well,  we  well  treat  Castor  and  Pollux  as  Cerberus  was 
treated.  Our  friend  Deroute  will  take  care  to  provide  him- 
self with  a  quarter  of  lamb." 

'But  after  the  dogs,  there  are  the  gardeners." 

'We  will  put  them  to  sleep." 

'And  then  the  walls." 

'We  will  cross  them." 

'And  there  is  still  Monsieur  de  Louvois." 

'We  will  laugh  at  him." 

'And  Monsieur  de  Charny." 

"Oh!  he  is  a  man  who  will  do  well  not  to  present  him- 
self before  our  friend  Jacques." 

"Stay,  Claudine!"  said  Suzanne,  who  had  not  been  able 
to  pronounce  the  name  of  the  minister  and  that  of  his 
favorite  without  shuddering,  "if  this  attempt  should  make 
Jacques  meet  the  least  danger,  I  would  prefer  to  take  the 
vail  and  die  here." 

"And  if  you  should  have  to  remain  at  the  convent  only 
fifteen  days  longer,  Jacques  would  prefer  to  enter  the 
Bastile  and  never  leave  it." 

"Poor  friend!" 

"Come!"  said  Claudine,  "let  us  come  to  an  understand- 
ing. Cornelius  comes  to  the  parlor  every  two  days." 

"It  is  rather  often." 

"Quite  true.  He  informs  me  of  the  projects  which  Belle- 
Rose,  Deroute,  and  himself  have  combined ;  while  they 
act  on  the  outside,  we  act  on  the  inside ;  I  get  possession  of 
Sister  Assumption's  keys,  and  familiarize  myself  with 
Castor  and  Pollux,  we  leave  every  day  some  gold-pieces  in 


260  THE  GARDENER'S  NEPHEW. 

the  hands  of  the  gardeners,  and,  on  the  day  fixed  for  the 
escape,  we  are  ready." 

"Ah!  my  God!"  exclaimed  Suzanne,  all  at  once,  "Mother 
Scholastique!" 

"Save  themselves  who  can!"  replied  Claudine,  turning 
her  head  in  the  direction  of  the  nun. 

One  took  one  direction,  and  the  other  the  opposite  one. 

While  Suzanne  and  Claudine  were  conspiring  inside  the 
convent,  Deroute  was  not  losing  any  time  outside.  He 
pushed  at  the  same  time  Grippard's  entrance  into  the 
police  force  and  his  own  into  the  gardens  of  the  good 
sisters.  The  same  day  as  that  on  which  took  place  Suzanne 
and  Claudine's  conference,  the  half  of  his  wish  was  real- 
ized ;  Grippard  came  to  surprise  him  at  the  hostelry  of  the 
Roi  David  in  his  uniform  as  member  of  the  police  force. 

"Ah!"  said  Deroute,  "you  have  succeeded,  then?" 

"It  was  necessary,  as  I  had  sworn  it." 

"You  are  obstinate,  I  can  see." 

"As  a  Breton,  though  born  in  Picardy.  But  I  have  had 
some  trouble  about  it." 

"Really!" 

"Since  the  Villejuif  affair,  Bouletord  has  become  as  sus- 
picious as  a  monk.  I  have  had  to  make  four  attempts  be- 
fore succeeding." 

"So  much  trouble  to  obtain  this  ugly  uniform  as  all 
that!" 

"It  has  cost  me  thirty  bottles  of  the  best  Argenteuil, 
seasoned  with  lies  and  hams." 

"Ah!  you  lie,  also?" 

"Sometimes,"  said  Grippard,  with  a  modest  air.  "It  is 
a  pretty  defect  which  occasionally  serves  better  than  the 
most  virtuous  qualities." 

"That  is  true,"  replied  Deroute,  philosophically. 

"And  that  is  what  brought  me  success. " 

"Tell  me  about  it." 

"Oh !  it  is  very  simple.  At  our  first  dinner  he  has  shown 
some  of  his  hatred  against  Belle-Rose ;  this  has  made  me 
reflect.  At  the  second  dinner  that  if  my  captain  was  a 
captain,  it  was  through  a  thousand  villanies. " 

"The  beggar!"  exclaimed  Deroute,  applying  a  furious 
blow  of  the  fist  to  the  table. 

"At  the  third  dinner,"  continued  Grippard,  "a  magnifi- 
cent idea  suddenly  struck  me;  I  confided  to  him  the  fact 
that  I  hated  Belle-Rose  with  a  deathly  hatred.  Bouletord 
came  near  embracing  me.  I  related  to  him  a  terrible  his- 
tory from  which  my  captain  came  out  as  black  as  ink. 


THE  GAKDENER'S  NEPHEW.  261 

'Quartermaster,'  I  have  said  to  him, 'enroll  me  in  your 
squad,  and  we  will  kill  him  together.'  Bouletord  was 
much  moved ;  he  has  pressed  my  hand,  swearing  upon  his 
soul  that  I  was  a  gallant  man.  I  have  signed  an  ugly 
paper  which  he  has  drawn  from  his  pocket,  and  now  I  am 
one  of  the  king's  archers." 

"Eh!  that  is  not  so  badly  done!"  exclaimed  Deroute. 

"One  sometimes  knows  the  air  without  knowing  the 
words,"  replied  Grippard,  looking  at  himself  in  the  smoky 
mirror  which  ornamented  the  cabaret. 

"It  is  a  first  success, "  replied  Deroute ;  "you  are  now 
master  of  the  enemy's  secrets,  and  if  I  penetrate  into  the 
heart  of  the  place,  we  are  sure  of  succeeding." 

"Then  I  entreat  you  to  make  haste." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"It  is  known  that  Belle-Rose  has  left  England;  his 
presence  at  Paris  is  suspected.  Monsieur  de  Charny  has 
put  the  police  on  the  lookout  for  him,  and  Bouletord  has 
undertaken  to  watch  the  convent." 

"Well,  return  to  Bouletord;  I  shall  go  and  talk  this  over 
with  my  captain  and  Cornelius. ' ' 

As  he  went  along  Deroute  revolved  a  thousand  projects 
for  introducing  himself  into  the  convent  garden ;  but  it 
was  in  vain — he  could  think  of  nothing.  It  was  in  this 
frame  of  mind  that  he  arrived  in  the  Rue  du  Pot-de-Fer 
St.  Sulpice,  at  the  worthy  Monsieur  Meriset's. 

"Eh,  friend!  what  is  the  matter  now?"  exclaimed  Cor- 
nelius at  sight  of  the  sergeant  who  had  the  countenance  of 
a  philosopher  short  of  philosophy. 

"The  matter  is  if  we  do  not  carry  the  place  by  assault, 
it  will  be  necessary  to  raise  the  siege." 

And  Deroute  imparted  to  him  the  revelations  of  Grip- 
pard. 

"You  have  spoken,"  said  Cornelius,  "now  read." 

Deroute  took  the  paper  which  Cornelius  handed  to  him ; 
it  was  a  letter  from  Claudine  containing  these  words : 

"I  have  made  the  gardener  talk;  he  is  expecting  his  nephew, 
whose  name  is  Ambrose  Patu,  and  whom  he  has  never  seen;  this 
nephew  is  a  native  of  Beaugency.  He  is  to  come  this  evening  by  the 
coach  and  to  descend  at  the  hostelry  of  the  Cheval  Noir,  Hue  da  Four 
St.  Germain,  presenting  himself  to-morrow  morning  at  the  convent. 
It  seems  to  me  that  this  news  presents  an  excellent  opportunity." 

On  reading  this  note,  Deroute  leaped  with  joy. 

"I  am  in  the  gardens!"  he  exclaimed. 

"No;  it  is  I  who  will  go  there,"  replied  Belle-Rose. 


262  THE  GAKDENEE'S  NEPHEW. 

"You?" 

"Yes,  my  friend,"  interrupted  Cornelius,  "it  is  an  idea 
of  the  captain — he  pretends  that  his  place  is  in  the  garden. " 

"Certainly,  since  Suzanne  is  there,"  said  Belle-Rose. 

"And  it  is  you  who  wish  to  don  the  dress  of  a  youthful 
gardener?"  said  Deroute,, 

"Certainly." 

"There  is  only  one  little  inconvenience — the  first  look 
a  nun  throws  at  you  will  tell  her  that  you  are  a 
gentleman." 

"Eh!  my  friend,  I  have  handled  the  pruning-bill. " 

"But  you  wear  a  sword!  Stay,  captain,  let  me  tell  you 
one  thing.  I  do  not  know  what  the  future  reserves  for  us, 
but  once  in  that  cage  of  stone  which  is  named  a  convent, 
one  is  never  sure  of  leaving  it.  If  you  are  discovered,  what 
will  you  do?" 

"I  shall  be  killed  before  I  am  taken." 

"This  is  all  very  well  for  you,  but  when  you  are  dead, 
what  will  happen  to  Madame  d'Albergotti?" 

Belle-Rose  sighed. 

"Do  you  wish  me  to  tell  you?"  continued  Deroute,  "she 
would  die.  What  you  intend  to  do,  I  will  do  better  than 
you,  having  the  language  and  manners  of  a  poor  devil, 
woman  or  villager.  If  I  perish  in  the  enterprise,  it  will  be 
time  for  you  to  take  my  place." 

Belle-Rose  took  his  comrade's  hand  and  pressed  it. 

"Do  as  you  wish, "  he  said  to  him. 

Deroute  did  not  wait  for  him  to  say  it  twice  and  left  for 
the  hostelry  of  the  Cheval  Noir,  after  having  put  on  a  coat 
which  gave  him  the  appearance  of  an  artisan.  In  the  dusk 
he  saw  arrive  a  strapping  young  fellow,  carrying  under 
his  arm  a  small  valise  and  at  the  end  of  a  stick  a  package 
tied  up  in  a  handkerchief  with  white  and  blue  squares. 
This  young  man  went  along  looking  at  all  the  signs,  his 
hat  thrown  back,  his  mouth  open,  and  dragging  his  gaiters 
along  the  gutter,  with  an  astonished  air.  The  sleeves  of 
his  coat  only  reached  to  his  elbows,  and  his  hair  fell  like 
flax  over  his  ears. 

"Hey!  Ambrose  Patu!"  cried  Deroute,  running  to  meet 
him. 

The  young  fellow  leaped  to  the  other  side  of  the  gutter 
thoroughly  frightened.  His  valise  came  near  rolling  in 
the  mud,  and  he  remained  planted  upon  his  long  legs  in 
the  very  middle  of  the  street. 

"Stay,"  said  he,  "you  know  me?" 


THE  GABDENEE'S  NEPHEW.  263 

"Parbleu!  if  I  did  not  know  you,  would  I  have  called 
you?" 

"That  is  true,"  replied  Ambrose ;  "but  all  the  same,  it 
is  very  funny  that  you  should  know  my  name  when  I  do 
not  know  yours." 

"I  will  explain  this  to  you.  But  first,  I  wish  to  assure 
myself  that  you  are  indeed  the  man  whom  I  desire  to  see." 

"If  it  is  Ambrose  Patu  whom  you  seek,  I  am  the  man." 

"Oh !  in  your  country  things  do  not  go  that  way.  There 
are  so  many  people  who  seek  to  deceive  others." 

' '  I  am  not  one  of  those  people. ' ' 

"I  do  not  doubt  it,  and  your  countenance  answers  for 
you ;  but  it  is  necessary  to  take  precautions.  Come !  you 
say,  then,  that  you  are  Ambrose  Patu?" 

"Ambrose  Patu,  from  a  little  neighborhood  near  Beau- 
gency." 

"That  is  it,  and  you  come  to  enter,  in  the  capacity  of  gar- 
dener, the  convent  of  Benedictine  nuns  in  the  Eue  du 
Cherche-Midi?" 

"Quite  right.  It  is  my  Uncle  Jerome  Patu  who  has 
sent  for  me." 

"Exactly.  You  are  seeking  the  Cheval  Noir,  and  to- 
morrow morning,  you  are  to  go  to  the  convent  with  a 
letter  from  your  honest  old  mother." 

"That  is  it,"  said  Ambrose,  who,  thoroughly  stupefied, 
drew  the  letter  from  his  pocket. 

"Very  well,"  said  Deroute;  "I  see  that  you  do  not  seek 
to  deceive  me.  Follow  me,  then,  friend  Patu;  the  inn  is 
near  here;  we  have  matters  to  talk  about." 

Ambrose  followed  without  doubting  such  a  prudent 
person  and  entered  the  Cheval  Noir.  Astonished  at  what 
he  had  heard,  the  honest  fellow  would  have  doubted  the 
virtue  of  his  patron  saint  before  suspecting  the  probity  of 
his  guide.  Deroute  asked  for  a  room,  had  a  table  set  with 
two  covers,  ordered  the  unsealing  of  a  bottle  of  the  best 
wine,  and,  when  the  dinner  was  served,  bolted  the  door. 

"Sit  down  there,"  said  he  to  his  companion,  who  had 
looked  at  all  the  preparations  without  breathing  a  word ; 
"here  is  a  little  Suresne  which  you  will  sample  forme, 
and  a  'gibelotte'  such  as  one  eats  only  at  the  table  of  a 
king." 

Ambrose  sat  down,  stretched  out  his  long  legs,  and 
emptied  his  glass  at  a  draught. 

"Ah,  comrade,"  said  he,  smacking  his  lips,  "you  who 
know  me  so  well,  tell  me  a  little  about  yourself." 

"That  is  just,"  said  Deroute,  "I  also  am  a  Patu." 


264  THE  GAKDENER'S  NEPHEW. 

"Ah,  bah!" 

"Oh!  my  God,  yes!  but  a  Patu  of  a  different  branch,  a 
Patu  from  Soissons,  cousin  of  your  uncle  Jerome  Patu." 

"You  are  still  of  the  family,  let  you  be  from  Beaugency 
or  from  Soissons. ' ' 

"Certainly,  the  name  is  everything,  the  country  noth- 
ing ;  I  say,  then,  that  I  am  a  Patu — Antoine  Patu,  called 
Patu  Blondinet." 

"That  is  a  funny  nickname." 

"Yes,  very  funny.     I  get  it  from  the  color  of  my  hair." 

"In  that  respect  I  also  would  be  a  Blondinet,"  said  Am- 
brose, laughing. 

"That  would  make  two  Blondinets  in  the  family,"  re- 
plied De"route,  who  kept  on  filling  the  glass  of  Ambrose 
Patu.  "Now,  when  my  Cousin  Jerome  had  learned  of  your 
arrival,  he  said  something  like  this  to  me :  'Antoine,  my 
friend,  go  see  your  nephew,  and  when  you  have  treated 
him  well,  send  him  back  immediately  to  the  country. ' ' 

"What!"  exclaimed  Ambrose,  letting  fall  his  fork. 

"Unless  it  pleases  him  to  become  a  monk,"  he  has 
added. 

"But  he  has  had  me  to  come  for  being  a  gardener,  and 
not  for  being  a  monk!"  said  Ambrose,  who  picked  up 
again  a  piece  of  rabbit  with  the  end  o±  his  fork. 

"That  was  because  just  then  Jerome  did  not  know  all. 
The  king  has  issued  an  edict." 

"What  have  I  to^do  with  the  edict?" 

"Drink  this  glass  of  white  wine  and  you  will  under- 
stand better." 

Ambrose  took  the  glass  and  pricked  up  his  ears. 

"This  is  how  it  is, "  continued  Deroute :  "The  edict  of 
the  king  prescribes  that  all  individuals  employed  in  the 
interior  of  convents  must  take  the  frock;  where  there 
are  nuns  he  wishes  that  there  should  be  monks." 

"It  is  abominable." 

"Certainly,  but  it  is  the  king's  will." 

"What  will  Catherine  say,  who  is  waiting  for  me  in  the 
country." 

"That  is  just  what  Jerome  said  to  me  this  morning; 
that  poor  Catherine,  what  will  become  of  her?  After  all 
this  can  be  arranged,  you  will  become  a  monk,  my  dear 
Ambrose,  and  Catherine  will  marry  somebody  else." 

"No!  no!"  exclaimed  Ambrose,  "I  have  promised  Cath- 
erine to  marry  her,  and  I  will  marry  her." 

"I  believe  you!  a  pretty  girl!" 

"You  have  seen  her?"* 


THE  GABDENEE'S  NEPHEW.          265 

"Parbleu!"  said  Deroute,  with  a  marvelous  assurance, 
"and  besides,  they  even  speak  of  her  at  Paris." 

"What  worries  me  is  to  lose  my  place,  a  good  place  " 

"Pooh!  a  place  between  four  walls." 

"I  do  not  say  nay.  But  one  hundred  livres  of  wages 
with  food  and  lodging.  One  earns  one's  dowry  in  three  or 
four  years. ' ' 

"That  is  true;  but,  bah!  Uncle  Jerome  will  earn  it  for 
you." 

"In  fact,  I  am  his  heir.  So  my  Uncle  Jerome,  old  though 
he  is,  is  going  to  become  a  monk?" 

"It  is  necessary.  He  takes  the  frock  to-morrow.  See  if 
your  heart  tells  you  to  do  likewise." 

"My  heart  has  never  spoken  to  me  of  the  convent;  it 
hears  only  Catherine.  What  is  vexatious  is  that  I  have 
scarcely  a  crown  left;  it  is  little  for  such  a  long  road." 

"Oh!  do  not  disturb  yourself,  Uncle  Jerome  has  pro- 
vided for  that." 

"How  is  that?" 

"If  it  happens,"  he  has  said  to  me,  "that  Ambrose  does 
not  like  the  convent " 

Ambrose  shook  his  head. 

" you  will  hand  him,"  continued  Deroute,  "these 

twenty  crowns  and  four  louis. " 

As  he  said  this,  Deroute  displayed  upon  a  table  the  white 
and  yellow  pieces.  The  eyes  of  Ambrose  sparkled  at  this 
sight. 

"All  this  for  me?"  said  he,  with  his  hand  upon  the 
money. 

"All  this,  and  moreover,  this  double  louis  for  Catherine." 

Ambrose  took  the  whole,  opened  his  valise,  and  placed 
the  money  at  the  bottom. 

"Friend  Blondinet, "  said  he,  "I  will  leave  to-morrow  by 
the  coach." 

"And  you  will  do  well;  the  convent  will  lose  a  good 
gardener  by  it,  but  it  will  be  the  fault  of  the  king." 

"Is  it  well  understood?"   continued  Deroute,  while  Am- 
brose was  stuffing  his  crowns  and  louis  between  his  shirts 
and  stockings  in  the  valise. 
'Certainly!" 

'Then  give  me  Madame  Patu's  letter." 
'Mamma's  letter?" 
'Yes." 

'What  do  you  want  with  the  letter?" 
'It  will  serve  me  as  a  proof  with  Jerome;  he  must  know 
that  I  have  fulfilled  my  commission." 


266  A  PONIAKD  THRUST. 

"That  is  true,"  said  Ambrose,  and  he  gave  Deroute  the 
letter. 

The  king's  edict,  Catherine,  the  gold  louis  danced  all 
night  in  Ambrose's  dreams.  At  daybreak  Deroute  awoke 
him.  They  embraced  like  old  friends,  and  one  took  his 
way  to  the  Rue  du  Cherche-Midi,  while  the  other  went  in 
the  direction  of  Beaugency.  The  attendant  of  the  convent 
called  Father  Jerome  as  soon  as  Deroute  had  stated  the 
motive  of  his  visit. 

"What  do  you  want  with  me?"  asked  the  gardener,  on 
entering  the  parlor. 

"My  uncle,  it  is  your  nephew  who  comes  to  be  a  gar- 
dener," replied  Deroute,  with  a  simple  air. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

A    PONIARD    THRUST. 

Jererne  embraced  his  nephew,  in  whom  he  recognized  at 
once  a  family  air.  Deroute  did  not  wink,  and  the  gardener 
forthwith  installed  him  in  his  lodging.  From  the  first  day, 
Deroute  set  out  to  gain  the  confidence  of  Castor  and  Pollux ; 
he  succeeded  therein  by  an  abundant  distribution  of 
dainties,  with  which  he  had  provided  himself.  Jerome, 
who  noticed  it,  was  astonished  at  such  a  great  friendship 
for  animals. 

While  caressing  the  dogs,  who  gamboled  around  him, 
Deroute  took  possession  of  his  new  domain ;  he  went  over 
the  entire  place  in  order  to  familiarize  himself  with  its 
topography.  Father  Jerome  accompanied  him  in  his  visit, 
and  mixed  dissertations  upon  the  art  of  gardening  with 
commentaries  upon  the  Patus  of  Beaugency.  Deroute  had 
a  reply  for  everything,  and  made  with  an  imperturbable 
tranquillity  the  biography  of  thirty  persons  whom  he  did 
not  know,  aiding  himself,  without  seeming  to  do  so,  with 
the  recollections  of  Jerome.  Toward  evening  Deroute 
knew  the  garden  of  the  convent  as  well  as  if  he  had  in- 
habited it  all  his  life.  Just  as  they  were  about  to  return, 
Jerome  nudged  him  with  his  elbow. 

"Hey!  my  nephew,"  he  said  to  him,  "look  at  the  end  of 
that  hedge,  and  you  will  see  some  one  who  always  has 
something  shining  to  leave  between  my  fingers." 

"Stay,  I  wish  to  see  her  closer,"  replied  Deroute,  and  he 
walked  toward  her. 


A  PONIARD  THRUST.  267 

His  uncle  followed  him. 

The  piercing  eye  of  Deroute  had  at  once  recognized 
Claudine,  and  he  was  not  vexed  to  place  himself  in  com- 
munication with  her. 

"My  good  lady,"  said  Jerome,  "this  is  my  nephew,  an 
honest  fellow,  who  has  had  the  desire  of  being  presented 
to  a  person  so  full  of  virtues.  If  he  can  serve  you  in  any 
way  use  him  freely." 

In  spite  of  the  peril  of  the  situation,  Claudine  bit  her 
lip  to  keep  from  laughing  at  the  sight  of  the  impassible 
figure  of  the  sergeant,  who  was  twisting  his  hat  with  one 
hand  and  scratching  his  ear  with  the  other. 

"I  believe  that  one  can  count  upon  you,"  said  she,  "and 
I  ask  you  to  take  this  crown  in  order  to  drink  to  my 
health." 

To  take  the  crown  it  was  necessary  to  approach  Claudine ; 
Deroute  did  so  after  Jerome  had  shoved  him  forward ;  but, 
as  he  bent  over,  he  said,  very  low  and  very  quickly : 

"Hold  yourself  ready;  it  is  necessary  to  make  haste." 

Claudine  thanked  him  with  a  look  and  moved  rapidly 
away.  She  found  Suzanne  waiting  for  her  at  the  bend  in  a 
walk. 

"I  have  seen  Deroute,"  Claudine  said  to  her,  in  a  joyous 
voice. 

"And  I  Monsieur  de  Charny,"  replied  Suzanne,  drawing 
Claudine  under  the  thick  shade  of  the  chestnut  trees. 

"You  have  seen  Monsieur  de  Charny? ' '  repeated  Claudine, 
all  of  whose  gayety  disappeared. 

"If  Belle  Rose  has  not  delivered  me  before  three  days,  I 
am  lost,"  continued  Suzanne.  "Monsieur  de  Lou vois  is 
tired  of  my  resistance.  I  must  become  a  nun  or  get  mar- 
ried in  three  days." 

"No,  no,"  exclaimed  Claudine,  who  wept  as  she  em- 
braced Suzanne. 

The  convent  bell  rang  the  Angelus,  and  the  two  friends 
separated.  An  hour  after  this  conversation  Cornelius,  who 
prowled  unceasingly  around  the  convent,  ran  against  a 
gentleman  who  was  entering  the  Rue  Vangirard  by  the 
Rue  Cassette.  The  shock  caused  the  hats  of  the  two  young 
people  to  fall. 

"Eh!  morbleu!  the  man  with  the  cloak!"  exclaimed  one 
of  the  two,  "you  go  very  quickly !  suffer  me  to  stop  you," 
and  he  placed  his  hand  upon  the  guard  of  his  sword. 

But  the  blade,  half  withdrawn,  returned  to  the  scabbard, 
and  the  gentleman  extended  his  hand  to  Cornelius  with  a 
burst  of  laughter. 


268  A  PONI1RD  THRUST. 

"Upon  my  word,  I  was  going  to  commit  a  folly.  But, 
monsieur,  one  should  forewarn  people  when  one  goes  from 
Dover  to  Paris." 

"My  first  visit  would  have  been  for  you  if  my  presence 
here  was  not  a  secret,"  replied  Cornelius,  taking  the  hand 
of  the  count. 

"Parbleu!  I  do  not  know  whether  I  ought  to  rejoice  at 
this  meeting,"  said  Monsieur  de  Pom ereux,  "otherwise  I 
should  have  had  the  pleasure  of  a  duel  with  a  passer-by,  if 
this  passer-by  had  been  some  one  other  than  you!" 

"Decidedly,"  replied  Cornelius,  "inaction  is  contrary  to 
your  disposition ;  the  first  time  that  I  saw  you,  you  were 
about  to  get  killed ;  the  second,  you  absolutely  wish  to  kill 
some  one.  It  is  a  malady. " 

"You  jest,  I  believe!  I  should  like  to  see  you  in  my  fix. 
The  most  abominable  adventure  has  happened  to  me.  I 
am  furious  over  it.  Still,  if  there  was  some  one  on  whom 
to  vent  my  anger " 

"I  am  truly  vexed  not  to  be  able  to  be  that  some  one; 
but,  upon  my  honor,  if  you  were  to  kill  me,  it  would 
singularly  disturb  my  plans." 

"Stay,"  continued  the  count,  without  paying  any  atten- 
tion to  Cornelius'  reasoning,  "I  make  you  the  judge  of  it; 
there  is  a  lady  of  the  name  of  d'Albergotti " 

"You  have  related  me  that  history, "  interrupted  Cor- 
nelius. 

"To  you?  it  is,  my  faith,  true!  I  relate  it  to  everybody, 
so  I  no  longer  know  who  knows  it  and  who  does  not. 
Well,  my  dear  Irishman,  would  you  believe  that  she  still 
continues  to  obstinately  refuse  me." 

"In  truth?" 

"She  has  a  heart  of  stone!  I  am  in  despair,  not  so  much 
for  myself  as  for  her;  for,  you  know,  a  woman  whom  one 
loses  is  happiness  gained." 

"So  that  it  is  the  love  of  one's  neighbor  which  inspires 
you  to  do  what  you  do." 

"I  believe  that  the  love  of  one's  neighbor  cuts  some 
figure  in  it ;  but  that  is  a  point  which  I  seek  to  hide  from 
myself.  A  good  gentleman  who  loves  without  being  loved 
— it  is  humiliating." 

"Parbleu!" 

"However,  on  leaving  the  parlor,  I  did  not  conceal  any 
of  the  dangers  that  she  ran.  She  smiled  at  me  and  an- 
swered: 'Let  the  will  of  God  be  done!'  " 

"Ah!  yes,"  said  Cornelius,  "the  famous  dangers  of 
which  you  spoke  to  us  in  England — a  convent  and  a  vail." 


A  PONIAKD  THKUST.  269 

"Stay,  it  is  a  narrative  which  I  wish  to  tell  you.  Since 
I  cannot  kill  any  one  let  us  go  and  sup  somewhere." 

Cornelius  readily  consented.  Monsieur  de  Pomereux, 
who  was  posted  about  all  the  cabarets  of  Paris,  gained  the 
corner  of  the  Rue  du  Dragon,  where  there  was  at  this 
epoch  a  renowned  eating-house  keeper,  knocked  at  the 
door,  entered  and  had  a  table  set  in  a  room. 

"Monsieur  landlord,"  he  said  to  him,  when  the  cover 
was  laid,  "go  and  get  me  some  of  your  best  wine,  and  pray 
God  that  I  find  it  good,  for  in  my  present  humor,  if  it  is 
not  passable,  I  shall  set  fire  to  the  house  and  massacre  you 
all." 

Having  spoken  thus,  Monsieur  de  Pomereux  drew  his 
sword  and  placed  it  on  the  table.  The  tavern-keeper  de- 
camped in  great  haste  and  came  back  five  minutes  later, 
followed  by  two  valets,  each  of  whom  carried  ten  bottles. 
The  proprietor  took  one  of  them  and  offered  it  to  the 
count,  keeping  one  eye  on  the  bottle  and  the  other  upon 
the  sword.  Monsieur  de  Pomereux  uncorked  it  and  drank 
the  whole  at  a  draught.  There  was  a  moment's  silence, 
during  which  the  proprietor  and  servants  looked  stealthily 
at  the  door. 

"It  is  almost  good,  go,  I  pardon  you,"  said  the  count. 

The  servants  disappeared,  and  the  two  guests  sat  down 
facing  each  other.  Cornelius  had  less  appetite  than  curi- 
osity ;  nevertheless,  as  the  hour  was  advanced,  the  supper 
good,  and  as  he  was  besides  a  very  accommodating  man  in 
all  things,  he  bravely  assisted  his  companion. 

"At  what  point  was  I  in  the  story?"  said  Monsieur  de 
Pomereux,  after  having  torn  in  pieces  a  hare  and  two 
partridges. 

"You  were  speaking  of  the  perils  incurred  by  your  un- 
natural sweetheart." 

"Ah !  yes.  See  how  my  anger  gets  the  better  of  me;  I 
will  have  to  kill  a  servant-boy.  I  am  going  to  call  the 
landlord  to  tell  him  to  bring  me  one.  Hello!" 

"Stop,  you  can  kill  him  as  you  go  out." 

"Well,  you  will  remind  me  of  it." 

"It  is  agreed." 

Monsieur  de  Pomereux  threw  an  empty  bottle  through 
the  window,  broke  the  neck  of  a  full  bottle,  and  con- 
tinued: 

"Madame  d'Albergotti  imagined  at  first  that  it  was  only 
a  question  of  a  nun's  vail  or  that  of  a  bride.  I  have  had  to 
confess  the  entire  truth  to  her ;  she  is  in  danger  of  Fort 
1'Eveque  or  Vincennes." 


270  A  PONIARD  THRUST. 

"Diable !  but  they  honor  her  much !  Behold  her  treated 
like  a  criminal  of  state!" 

"It  comes  from  the  fact  that,  thanks  to  Monsieur  de 
Charny,  my  gentle  cousin,  Monsieur  de  Louvois,  has 
caught  wind  of  the  maneuvers  of  Belle-Rose. ' ' 

"Indeed!" 

"Now  the  minister  is  a  very  prudent  minister,  who  im- 
agines that  one  is  more  safe  in  a  prison  than  a  cloister,  in 
a  dungeon  than  in  a  cell." 

"That  is  also  the  opinion  of  jailers." 

"Ah!  if  Madame  d'Albergotti  consented  to  pronounce 
her  vows,  he  would  leave  her  at  ease  in  the  pious  house  of 
the  Benedictine  nuns,  quite  sure  that  she  would  no  longer 
leave  it.  But  she  is  a  frail  creature  who  is  wonderfully 
resolute.  She  would  let  herself  be  killed  before  articu- 
lating the  sacramental  'yes,'  " 

"It  is  obstinacy." 

"Yes,  but  in  the  language  of  sentiment  it  is  called  con- 
stancy. Do  you  believe  that  in  order  to  draw  her  from 
this  gulf,  I  have  proposed  to  her  to  marry  her  and  to  after- 
ward take  her  where  she  prefers  to  go,  to  some  chateau  of 
mine,  if  one  is  left  me,  or  to  one  of  my  estates,  promising 
her  on  my  faith  as  a  gentleman,  to  never  return  there 
without  her  permission?  But  no,  she  would  not!" 

"She  has  refused  you?" 

"Without  hesitation.  Monsieur  de  Louvois  will  laugh  at 
me." 

"Faith,  my  dear  count,  it  is  necessary  to  place  this  re- 
fusal to  the  account  of  feminine  caprices.  A  woman  ac- 
cepts and  refuses  just  as  it  rains  and  the  wind  blows — 
without  one's  knowing  why." 

"The  most  curious  fact  is  that,  not  being  able  to  be 
Madame  d'Albergotti's  husband,  I  am  to  become  her 
tyrant. " 

"You!" 

"It  is  an  idea  of  Monsieur  de  Louvois.  In  three  days  I 
will  place  myself  at  the  head  of  an  escort  which  will  take 
her  I  know  not  where,  and  at  which  point  I  am  to  assume 
charge  of  her.  My  cousin  wishes  to  make  of  me  a  species 
of  Bluebeard.  'Monsieur  le  cornte,'  he  has  said  to  me,  'take 
care  that  the  lady  is  not  carried  away  from  you  after 
having  played  with  you.  Repulsed  and  deceived — it  would 
be  too  much  for  your  renown. '  This  has  piqued  me,  and 
upon  my  honor,  I  am  going  to  become  pitiless." 

The  supper  was  about  over;  Monsieur  de  Pomereux 
arose,  brought  his  fist  heavily  down  upon  the  table, 


A  PONIAKD  THKUST.  271 

causing  the  glass  and  china  to  rattle  in  a  frightful  fashion, 
after  which  he  descended.  When  they  were  in  the  street, 
each  one  went  his  way,  one  toward  Monsieur  de  Louvois' 
hotel,  the  other  toward  Monsieur  Meriset's  inn ;  but  when 
about  to  separate,  Monsieur  de  Pomereux,  taking  from  his 
finger  a  ring,  handed  it  to  Cornelius. 

"Take  this,  my  Irish  friend, "  he  said  to  him ;  "I  do  not 
know  what  enterprise  you  are  pursuing,  but,  in  case  of 
misadventure,  strike  boldly  at  the  Hotel  de  Pomereux,  Rue 
du  Roi-de-Sicile ;  this  ring  will  open  all  its  doors  to  you, 
and  you  will  be  in  safety." 

Cornelius  slipped  the  ring  in  his  pocket,  and  the  two 
guests  having  pressed  each  other's  hand,  separated.  The 
young  Irishman  found  Belle-Rose  in  conference  with  Grip- 
pard.  The  honest  corporal  entertained  the  idea  that  the 
expedition  would  be  perilous.  Bouletord  was  alwajrs  around 
the  convent  with  seven  or  eight  rascals  armed  to  the  teeth. 
There  was  in  a  stable  in  the  Rue  St.  Maur  half  a  dozen 
horses  all  saddled  and  bridled  in  case  of  alarm,  and  the 
watch  was  kept  up  day  and  night. 

"If  it  was  only  a  question  of  my  skin,  it  would  be  noth- 
ing,"  said  the  soldier,  by  way  of  peroration,  "but  I  am 
afraid  of  the  galleys. ' ' 

"Bah!"  said  Cornelius,  who  just  then  came  in,  "a  brave 
man  is  always  master  of  his  own  life." 

This  argument  appeared  final  to  Grippard,  who  said 
nothing  more. 

"Come,"  said  Belle-Rose,  "we  will  act  soon." 

"We  will  act  to-morrow,"  said  the  Irishman. 

And  he  related  what  he  had  learned  from  Monsieur  de 
Pomereux.  Belle-Rose  bounded  like  a  lion. 

"If  I  fail,"  said  he,  "as  true  as  there  is  a  God  I  shall  go 
to  Monsieur  de  Louvois  and  bury  this  poniard  in  his 
heart." 

And  he  turned  toward  heaven  the  blade  of  a  poniard 
which  he  carried  under  his  coat.  It  was  decided  that  the 
abduction  should  take  pace  the  next  evening.  Cornelius 
and  Belle-Rose  had  agreed  with  Deroute  upon  a  signal 
which  would  inform  him  of  the  day  fixed  on  for  the  escape ; 
this  signal  was  to  come  from  the  mansard  formerly  hired 
by  the  sergeant,  and  upon  which  he  was  to  throw  his  eyes 
from  time  to  time.  Belle-Rose  had  provided  himself  with 
a  rope-ladder.  While  they  were  arranging  plans,  Monsieur 
Meriset  entered  the  apartment,  cap  in  hand.  He  was  some- 
what pale,  and  he  wore  an  air  of  mystery. 

"Pardon,  messieurs,  if  I  disturb  you, "  said  he,    "but  I 


272  A  PONIAKD  THRUST. 

would  fail  in  all  that  -which  I  owe  my  lodgers  if  I  did  not 
warn  them  of  what  is  taking  place." 

"What  is  taking  place,  then,  my  worthy  Monsieur  Meri- 
set?" said  Belle-Rose. 

"This  is  it:  Some  persons  whose  appearance  I  have 
thought  suspicious  are  prowling  around  ray  house.  I  am 
certain  that  they  are  not  watching  me;  from  which  I  have 
concluded " 

"That  not  prowling  for  you,  they  are  prowling  for  us," 
interrupted  Cornelius. 

Monsieur  Meriset  bowed  in  sign  of  assent. 

"It  is  a  logical  reasoning, "  continued  Belle-Rose,  "and 
which  is  not  devoid  of  truth." 

"That  is  why  I  have  mounted  to  your  room,"  said  the 
proprietor.  "It  is  not  very  far  from  the  Rue  du  Pot-de  Fer 
St.  Sulpice  to  the  Bastile ;  therefore  be  on  your  guard '  * 

"We  are  on  our  guard,  my  worthy  host,  and  it  is  with 
the  intention  of  avoiding  a  new  disturbance  with  the  men 
of  the  king  that  I  ask  you  to  render  me  a  service. " 

"Speak,  monsieur,"  said  Monsieur  Meriset,  bowing  low- 

"Have  you  still  that  dear  nephew  who  is  your  heir?" 
said  Belle-Rose. 

"I  have." 

"He  is  a  boy  who  knows  something  of  horses.  Irecollecfc 
the  lively  fashion  in  which  he  has  galloped  from  Paris  to 
Bethune." 

"It  does  not  become  me  to  praise  my  nephew,  but  it  is 
certain  that  no  one  purchases  a  horse  in  the  quarter  with- 
out consulting  him." 

"Ask  him,  then,  to  procure  me  to-morrow  four  horses 
of  good  blood,  having  nerve  and  wind.  Grippard  here  will 
take  them  to  the  place  where  they  will  be  wanted.  As  to 
the  price,  I  shall  not  stand  upon  it,  and  your  nephew  shall 
have  ten  louis  for  his  trouble." 

Monsieur  Meriset  promised  and  withdrew.  Grippard 
slipped  away  to  re  join  Bouletord;  Cornell  us  and  Belle- Rose 
leaped  over  the  garden  walls  and  gained  the  lodging  va- 
cated by  the  sergeant.  On  turning  the  corner  of  the  Rue 
du  Pot-de-Fer  St.  Sulpice,  they  perceived  in  the  corner  of 
a  porte  cochere  two  disagreeable  looking  fellows,  who  im- 
mediately came  forth.  But  at  sight  of  the  swords  which 
shone  in  the  moonlight,  the  rascals  made  off. 

"Monsieur  Meriset  was  not  deceived,"  said  Belle-Rose. 

Five  minutes  after  three  lights  forming  the  points  of  a 
brilliant  triangle  shone  at  the  window  of  the  garret. 


A  PONIAED  THEUST.  273 

Deroute,  who  was  making  his  round  in  the  convent  gar- 
dens, stopped  short. 

"Come!  it  is  for  to-morrow,"  said  he,  and  he  went  away 
philosophically  to  rejoin  Jerome  Patu. 

The  next  day  Cornelius  went  to  the  convent ;  on  this  day 
he  was  followed  by  a  lackey  carrying  two  beautiful  silver 
chandeliers  for  the  altar  of  St.  Claire,  for  whom  Mother 
Evangelique  had  a  special  devotion.  The  present  was  wel- 
come, and  Cornelius  had  time  to  converse  with  Claudine 
in  the  parlor.  Claudine,  quickly  informed  as  to  the  new 
circumstances,  charged  herself  with  making  them  known 
to  Suzanne  and  promised  to  follow  blindly  the  instructions 
of  Deroute.  She  profited  by  the  novelty  of  the  chandeliers 
to  obtain  from  the  superior  the  permission  to  traverse  the 
gardens  in  the  moonlight,  and  so  arranged  it  as  to  have  a 
long  conference  with  Suzanne.  Toward  noon  Claudine  met 
Deroute,  who  was  walking  along  with  a  pruning-bill  in 
his  hand,  mutilating  the  apricot  trees.  No  one  was  any- 
where near  them. 

"Be  behind  the  willows  at  dusk,  at  the  place  where  the 
wall  makes  a  turn." 

"We  will  be  there,"  said  Claudine. 

At  nightfall  Claudine  and  Suzanne  threw  themselves 
upon  their  knees  by  an  instinctive  movement  and  raised 
their  hands  to  God.  It  was  the  decisive  hour,  and  they 
held  themselves  in  readiness.  The  chapel  bell  rang,  the 
steps  of  the  nuns  going  to  the  evening  devotions  were 
heard,  and  soon  the  songs  resounded.  Great  white  clouds 
were  extended  like  a  scarf  of  gauze  over  the  horizon,  where 
floated  the  vailed  moon.  The  windows  of  the  chapel  spark- 
led  in  the  night,  Suzanne  feigned  a  headache  to  keep  from 
going  to  the  chapel,  Claudine  having  recommended  her  to 
wait  for  her  in  her  cell.  Suzanne  half  opened  her  door  and 
counted  the  minutes.  At  seven  o'clock  Claudine  came  out; 
the  prayers  filled  with  their  pious  murmurs  the  long  cor- 
ridors  of  the  convent ;  the  attendant,  who  knew  the  order 
of  the  superior,  let  the  young  boarder  pass,  but  Claudine 
had  not  made  three  steps  when  she  returned. 

"I  have  forgotten  my  cloak  and  am  going  to  look  for  it; 
will  you,  my  sister,  leave  the  door  open?"  said  she. 

And  like  a  bird  she  rushed  down  the  somber  hall. 

Her  feet  did  not  touch  the  floor,  and  nevertheless  Su- 
zanne heard  her  and  leaned  her  head  out  of  her  cell. 

"Come!"  said  Claudine,  and  both  descended  the  stair- 
way. 

In  passing  before  the  narrow  room  where  the  attendant 


274  BY  THE  AID  OF  FIRE. 

•was,  Claudine  leaned  toward  her,  in  that  way  masking  the 
door. 

"Thanks,  my  good  sister,"  said  she. 

Suzanne  slipped  out,  and  Claudine  followed  her.  They 
plunged  into  the  silent  depths  of  the  park,  and  embraced 
as  soon  as  they  were  sheltered  by  the  trees. 

"Some  minutes  more,  and  we  are  free,"  said  Claudine. 

They  ran  to  the  angle  of  the  wall  and  found  Deroute 
waiting  very  impatiently. 

"I  have  given  the  signal  twice,  and  no  one  has  answered 
me,"  said  he.  "Wait  for  me  here." 

Suzanne  shivered  and  felt  Claudine's  hand  tremble  in 
hers.  Deroute  walked  along  the  walls,  and  assisting  him- 
self by  some  branches,  climbed  like  a  cat  to  the  top.  The 
night  was  black,  great  clouds  having  suddenly  vailed  the 
moon.  He  listened,  and  it  seemed  to  him  that  whispering 
was  going  on  some  few  steps  from  him.  Deroute  got  astride 
of  the  wall  and  descended  by  planting  the  blade  of  his 
knife  between  the  stones.  When  he  had  reached  the 
ground,  he  went  straight  in  the  direction  from  which  the 
whispering  had  come,  but  all  at  once  two  men  pounced 
upon  him. 

"Go  to  the  devil!"  cried  one  of  them,  who  was  Grippard, 
while  Bouletord  struck  him  with  a  poniard. 

The  voice  saved  Deroute ;  he  received  the  blow  in  his 
clothing  as  he  leaped  to  one  side  like  a  squirrel.  Bouletord 
threw  himself  upon  him,  but  the  sergeant  gained  the  wall 
and  disappeared  in  the  shadows.  At  the  end  of  a  hundred 
steps  he  climbed  a  tree  and  jumped  from  it  into  the  con- 
vent garden. 

"That  is  a  blow,  Monsieur  Bouletord,"  said  he,  as  he 
rose,  "which  I  shall  endeavor  to  pay  you  back." 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

BY  THE  AID  OP  FIRE. 

Suzanne  and  Claudine  had  heard  Grippard's  cry;  this 
cry  carried  away  all  their  hope  as  a  gust  of  wind  carries 
away  a  spark;  they  pressed  each  other  close,  trembling 
for  Jacques  and  Cornelius.  Just  then  they  heard  Deroute 
as  he  fell  upon  the  turf.  In  two  bounds  he  was  before 
them. 


BY  THE  AID  OF  FIKE.  275 

"It  is  a  spoiled  affair,"  he  said  to  them;  "return 
quickly." 

"Jacques?  Cornelius?"  said  at  the  same  time  Suzanne 
and  Claudine. 

"They  are  saved,  think  of  yourselves." 

Deroute  pulled  forward  the  two  women ;  the  silence  was 
profound,  but  the  dogs  growled  and  rattled  their  chains. 
On  quitting  the  two  women  Deroute  ran  to  the  dogs. 
Claudine  knocked  at  the  door,  the  attendant  opened,  and 
the  same  ruse  which  had  protected  Suzanne  in  going  out 
protected  her  return.  A  quarter  of  an  hour  had  sufficed  to 
ruin  their  hopes ;  when  Suzanne  and  Claudine  knelt  down 
before  the  image  of  Christ,  the  sonorous  barking  of  Castor 
and  Pollux  resounded  in  the  park.  While  Deroute  hastened 
to  make  disappear  every  trace  of  escape  and  to  awaken 
Father  Jerome  to  efface  all  suspicion  of  complicity  in  case 
of  accident,  Bouletord  and  Grippard  were  searching  along 
the  wall,  the  one  swearing,  the  other  reasoning. 

"Sangdieu!  he  must  be  a  sorcerer!"  exclaimed  Boule- 
tord, and  he  went  along  the  wall,  looking  everywhere.  At 
the  end  of  fifty  steps,  his  foot  struck  a  dead  body. 

"Here  he  is!"  exclaimed  the  quartermaster,  and  he 
leaned  over. 

Grippard  shivered,  but  Bouletord  rose  like  a  tiger. 

"Mordieu!  it  is  one  of  my  own  men  whom  they  have 
killed,"  said  he;  "he  has  been  struck  in  the  breast." 

Bouletord  took  a  whistle  and  blew  it.  At  this  signal,  sev- 
eral archers  posted  here  and  there  ran  up.  Around  the 
dead  body  the  soil  was  pressed  by  numerous  steps,  but  the 
murderers  had  left  no  other  trace  of  their  passage.  One  of 
the  archers  declared,  however,  that  two  men  enveloped 
in  cloaks  had  approached  the  wall  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  before  Grippard's  cry ;  he  had  asked  them  for  the 
word  of  order ;  the  two  men  had  given  it  to  him,  and  he 
had  let  them  pass,  taking  them  for  agents  of  Bouletord. 

"The  word  of  order?  they  have  given  it  to  you?"  ex- 
claimed Bouletord. 

"Par bleu!  they  must  have  stolen  it, "  replied  Grippard. 

The  silence  around  them  was  profound ;  it  was  necessary 
to  renounce  any  enterprise  for  the  night.  Bouletord  dis- 
tributed his  men  around  the  convent,  and  stretched  him- 
self out  under  a  tree  with  Grippard,  his  confidant. 

This  is  what  had  taken  place :  The  same  morning  of  the 
day  fixed  for  the  escape,  Bouletord,  walking  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  Rue  Vangira;  d,  had  met  Monsieur  Meriset's 
nephew  leading  four  horses  by  their  bridles.  This  nephew 


276  BY  THE  AID  OF  FIRE. 

•was  a  jovial  lad  who  frequented  cabarets  and  gaming- 
houses, where  he  had  formed  all  sorts  of  bad  acquaintances, 
among  which  was  that  of  Bonletord.  It  was  a  side  of  his 
life  which  he  did  not  reveal  to  his  uncle,  who  regarded 
him  as  a  little  saint. 

"Hey!  Christopher!"  said  Bouletord,  "those  are  fine 
animals  you  have  there ;  they  ought  to  bring  you  in  two 
hundred  pistoles." 

"That  would  be  a  bad  bargain.  They  cost  me  four  thou- 
sand livres!"  replied  the  nephew,  coming  to  a  halt. 

"Your  dear  uncle,  then,  has  a  desire  to  stock  his 
stables!"  said  the  quartermaster,  caressing  the  neck  of 
one  of  the  horses. 

"Him !  he  loves  his  louis  too  well  to  risk  a  single  one  of 
them." 

"It  is,  then,  for  you!" 

"Nothing  in  the  hands,  nothing  in  the  pockets,"  said 
Christopher,  striking  his  gusset.  "Ah!  yes!  there  will  be 
this  evening  ten  or  twenty  pistoles  which  the  gentleman 
will  give  me  for  my  trouble." 

"What  gentleman?" 

"The  gentleman  at  Papa  Meriset's,  a  proud  soldier  who 
talks  like  a  duke  and  pays  like  a  king." 

Bouletord  pricked  up  his  ears. 

"Ah!  ah!  "said  he,  "and  he  has  need  of  four  horses, 
your  gentleman?" 

"I  have  an  idea  that  they  will  see  some  country  before 
to-morrow's  sun.  I  have  been  recommended  to  choose  the 
most  active  and  vigorous  beasts." 

Bouletord  had  not  forgotten  that  Belle-Rose  had  been 
arrested  at  Monsieur  Meriset's. 

"It  is  clear,"  bethought;  "his  temerity  is  cunning;  who 
the  devil  would  have  thought  the  swallow  would  have  re- 
turned to  the  nest?" 

Bouletord,  wishing  to  clear  up  his  first  suspicions,  pro- 
posed to  Christopher  to  drink  a  bottle  or  two  at  the  caba- 
ret on  the  corner.  They  drank,  and  Bouletord  questioned 
Christopher.  In  the  midst  of  his  thoughtlessness,  Christo- 
pher was  an  honest  and  worthy  fellow.  Seeing  himself 
questioned,  he  understood  at  once  that  he  had  already  said 
too  much ;  he  was  silent,  emptied  his  glass,  remounted  his 
horse  and  rode  away.  But  Bouletord  divined  the  unknown 
from  the  known.  If  horses  were  purchased,  it  was  for 
flying,  and  if  they  wished  to  fly,  it  was  because  they 
cherished  the  hope  of  carrying  off  the  captive.  Boule- 


BY  THE  AID  OF  FIEE.  277 

tord  rubbed  his  hands  and  went  to  relate  everything  to 
Grippard. 

"I  have  them,"  said  he,  in  conclusion. 

That  was  also  Grippard's  opinion,  and  he  affected  a 
great  joy. 

"Good!"  said  he  to  Bouletord,  "I  am  not  pleased  with 
my  pistols,  and  as  I  intend  not  to  miss  the  stroke  this 
evening,  I  shall  run  to  the  company's  locksmith.'' 

But  instead  of  running  to  the  locksmith,  he  took  his 
way  to  the  Rue  du  Pot-de-Fer  St.  Sulpice;  Cornelius  and 
Belle-Rose  were  not  there;  Grippard  ran  to  Deroute's 
observatory ;  the  two  friends  had  left  it  in  the  morning. 
Grippard  snatched  out  a  handful  of  hair;  but  this  panto- 
mime not  aiding  him  to  discover  either  the  captain  or  the 
Irishman,  he  ran  like  a  stag  and  took  the  road  to  the 
hostelry  of  the  Roi  David.  He  pushed  open  the  door  and 
found  Cornelius. 

"At  last!"  said  Grippard. 

"Be  silent,"  replied  Cornelius;  "I  am  expecting  Chris- 
topher and  his  horses." 

"That  is  what  I  wish  to  talk,  to  you  about." 

Grippard  drew  Cornelius  into  one  corner  and  related  to 
him  all  that  he  knew  of  Bouletord 's  plans. 

"There  will  be  a  dozen  armed  men  around  the  gardens, " 
said  he;  "at  the  least  alarm,  they  have  orders  to  fire." 

"Well,"  said  Belle-Rose,  who  had  just  come  up,  "I  am 
going  to  recruit  five  or  six  determined  rascals,  and  it  will 
be  a  battle." 

"Bless  me !"  replied  Grippard,  "dresses  are  not  cuirasses ; 
if  the  women  receive  the  balls,  that  will  be  your  affair." 

Belle-Rose  hit  his  fists, 

"Come,"  said  he,  "we  shall  act  according  to  circum- 
stances. It  is  too  late  to  warn  Deroute. " 

Night  came,  oats  were  placed  under  the  noses  of  the 
horses,  and  they  quitted  the  hostelry  of  the  Roi  David.  As 
Grippard  had  told  them,  there  were  archers  all  around  the 
convent.  Belle-Rose  quivered  with  impatience. 

"At  least,"  said  ho,  "let  us  warn  Deroute." 

They  advanced  and  gave  the  word,  they  were  permitted 
to  pass  and  gained  the  wall.  At  the  end  of  thirty  steps, 
believing  themselves  alone,  they  stopped;  Belle-Rose  drew 
a  silk  ladder  from  his  pocket;  but,  just  as  he  was  about  to 
throw  it  over  the  wall,  a  man  concealed  in  a  recess  of  the 
wall,  threw  himself  upon  him.  Belle-Rose  seized  his  arm 
with  one  hand,  and  with  the  other  planted  his  poniard 
in  the  man's  breast.  The  man  fell  without  uttering  a 


278  BY  THE  AID  OF  tf 

single  cry.  The  entire  blade  had  disappeared  in  the 
wound.  At  the  same  moment  they  heard  Grippard's  im- 
precation, and  Deroute's  rush  to  the  wall.  Belle-Rose  and 
Cornelius  threw  themselves  into  the  somber  corner  from 
which  the  man  had  launched  himself  and  waited,  pistols 
in  hand.  Deroute  mounted  a  tree  ten  steps  away  from 
them  and  crossed  the  wall  at  a  bound.  Belle-Rose  climbed 
like  the  sergeant  and  was  followed  by  Cornelius.  At  the 
end  of  a  moment  Bouletord  and  Grippard  came  up.  From 
the  midst  of  the  branches  where  they  were  concealed  they 
heard  Bouletord 's  exclamation  on  seeing  the  dead  body. 
Tranquil  as  Deroute,  they  kept  quiet;  toward  midnight 
the  rain  began  to  fall ;  the  night  was  black,  the  nearest 
sentinel  was  promenading  twenty  steps  away.  Belle-Rose 
and  Cornelius  descended  from  the  tree  and  walked  softly 
over  the  rain-soaked  ground. 

"Who  goes  there?"  some  one  cried,  ten  steps  away  from 
them. 

This  time  Belle-Rose  and  Cornelius  fled  without  reply- 
ing. 

"Qui  vive!'1''  repeated  the  voice,  and  at  the  same  moment 
a  shot  was  fired. 

Belle-Rose  and  Cornelius  kept  running. 

"Brother,  are  you  hit?"  said  Cornelius. 

"I  have  the  ball  in  my  cloak,"  replied  Belle-Rose. 

Bouletord's  troop  was  behind  them;  but  the  shadows 
were  so  thick  that  they  soon  reached  the  Rue  de  Sevres 
without  being  disturbed. 

"Where  are  you  taking  me?"  Belle-Rose  asked  Cornelius. 

"Come  on, "  said  the  Irishman,  who  had  his  idea. 

At  the  end  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour  they  arrived  at  the 
Rue  du  Roi-de-Sicile.  Cornelius  struck  at  the  hotel  of  the 
Comte  de  Pomereux.  The  intendant  was  called,  and  at 
sight  of  his  master's  ring,  he  introduced  the  two  strangers 
into  a  comfortable  apartment,  where,  by  his  order,  a  sup- 
per was  served. 

"Where  the  devil  are  we?"  said  Belle-Rose. 

"At  the  home  of  our  enemy,  Monsieur  de  Pomereux, 
and  we  are  better  off  here  than  at  our  friend  Monsieur 
Meriset's, "  replied  the  Irishman. 

This  night  the  house  in  the  Rue  du  Pot-de-Fer  St.  Sul- 
pice  was  visited  from  top  to  bottom  by  Monsieur  Charny. 

"The  birds  have  come,"  said  he  to  Bouletord,  "but  they 
have  flown." 

The  next  day  Deroute  might  have  been  seen  prowling 
around  the  orchard  of  the  convent,  pruning-bill  in  hand ; 


BY  THE  AID  OF  FIRE.  279 

his  eyes  turned  incessantly  toward  the  door  through  which 
Claudine  was  accustomed  to  descend  to  the  garden.  De- 
route  was  cutting  the  branches  around  him. 

"Eh!  my  nephew,  what  are  you  doing  there?"  exclamed 
the  old  Jerome;  "you  are  massacring  that  tree." 

"I  am  killing  it,"  coldly  replied  the  nephew;  "this  tree 
absorbed  the  nourishment  of  its  neighbors.  Do  you  not 
see  that  if  these  apricot  trees  have  no  fruit,  it  is  the  faulfc 
of  this  plum  tree?" 

The  assurance  of  Deroute  stupefied  Jerome,  who  bowed 
before  the  science  of  his  nephew.  Toward  noon  Claudine 
appeared  Deroute's  arm  was  tired  of  cutting,  Claudine 
was  very  pale.  She  threw  her  eyes  around  her.  Jerome 
was  gardening  in  one  corner ;  she  approached  Deroute. 

"Extend  your  apron  as  if  for  cherries,  and  we  will  talk, " 
he  said  to  her. 

"Did  you  hear  that  shot?"  said  Claudine. 

"It  gave  me  a  chill,  mam'zelle." 

"Do  you  think  that  one  of  them  has  been  wounded?" 

"No;  I  was  prowling  under  the  wall.  Bouletord  has 
sworn  fearfully,  and  that  has  made  me  understand  that  he 
has  failed  to  hit  anything." 

"What  a  terrible  night,  my  God!  But,  alas!  everything 
is  not  finished. " 

"What  is  the  matter  now?" 

"Suzanne  is  to  be  taken  to-night  I  know  not  where;  to 
the  Bastile,  perhaps." 

"To-night?" 

"Mother  Evangelique  told  her  so  just  now.  Monsieur  de 
Louvois  has  been  informed  of  the  adventures  of  this  night, 
and  though  they  have  failed,  he  does  not  wish  them  to  be 
renewed.  It  is  impossible  to  now  warn  Cornelius  or  Belle- 
Bose.  What  must  we  do,  my  God?" 

"I  will  warn  them  myself,"  said  Deroute,  whose  excel- 
lent physiognomy  took  on  a  ferocious  expression.  "Go 
now,  mam'zelle,  and  in  case  of  alarm,  hold  yourself 
ready." 

Claudine  left  with  a  lighter  haart.  Deroute  came  down 
from  the  tree,  ran  to  the  lodge,  and  returned  with  a  large, 
red  handkerchief,  which  he  attached  to  the  highest  branch 
of  the  cherry  tree. 

"What  are  you  doing  there?"    sked  Father  Jerome. 

"Faith,"  said  he,  "the  cat-birds  have  eaten  half  the 
cherries ;  it  is  for  saving  the  rest. ' ' 

"Hold!  your  idea  is  good,  my  nephew." 

"Yes,  I  sometimes  have  that  kind." 


280  BY  THE  AID  OF  FIRE. 

Belle-Rose  and  Cornelius  had  quitted  at  an  early  hour 
the  Hotel  de  Pomereux  and  had  disguised  themselves  in 
such  a  manner  that  Bouletord  himself  would  not  have 
recognized  them.  Belle-Rose  mounted  to  the  garret,  after 
having  observed  the  surroundings  of  the  place.  Cornelius 
had  gone  to  the  Roi  David  to  wait  for  Grippard.  As  soon 
as  Belle-Rose  had  seen  the  red  handkerchief  floating  from 
the  top  of  the  cherry  tree,  he  trembled  and  descended  the 
stair- way  four  steps  at  a  time.  In  three  bounds  he  reached 
the  Rue  des  Franco-Bourgeois-St.  Michel. 

"Deroute  is  at  work,"  said  he  to  Cornelius  and  Grip- 
pard; "I  have  seen  the  signal." 

'The  red  handkerchief?"  exclaimed  Cornelius,  quickly. 

'Yes." 

'Deroute  is  a  firm  and  prudent  fellow ;  the  peril  must 


be 


imminent. ' 


'He  will  find  us  ready." 
'You  have  heard,  Grippard,  it  is  for  this  evening,"  said 
Cornelius. 

Christopher,  whom  the  alarm  of  the  preceding  night  had 
rendered  more  circumspect  by  teaching  him  the  danger  of 
unbosoming  himself  to  the  police,  promised  to  have  the 
horses  saddled  and  bridled  at  dusk  and  at  a  place  which 
they  designated  near  the  convent.  Meanwhile  Deroute 
slipped  in  his  pockets  two  pistols,  of  which  he  was  as  sure 
as  of  himself,  and  concealed  under  his  coat  a  poniard, 
which  he  had  more  than  once  had  occasion  to  handle. 

"The  affair  must  come  to  a  finish, "  he  said  to  himself 
"the  veritable  Ambrose  Patu  may  return  at  any  time." 

The  evening  came.  Deroute  left  his  lodge  and  traversed 
the  garden.  He  had  remarked,  on  the  day  of  his  entrance 
at  the  convent,  a  collection  of  sheds  in  which  were  heaped ; 
all  sorts  of  old  furniture  along  with  straw  and  hay  for 
feeding  three  or  four  cows  which  the  nuns  kept.  These 
sheds  were  fifty  feet  away  from  the  main  building.  De- 
route  went  straight  to  them,  and  crouched  down  in  a 
corner.  He  drew  from  his  pocket  a  tinder-box,  lit  a  piece 
of  touch-wood,  slipped  it  under  a  pile  of  shavings  and 
began  to  blow  it  with  all  his  lungs ;  two  minutes  after  a 
bright  flame  shot  up.  Deroute  overturned  two  or  three 
heaps  of  straw  and  went  out  drawing  the  door  after  him. 
He  was  not  at  the  end  of  the  avenue  when  the  smoke  came 
out  through  all  the  cracks.  When  he  turned  around,  he 
saw  the  flames  devouring  the  roof.  Deroute  began  to  run 
as  fast  as  he  could  toward  the  convent,  crying : 

"Fire!  fire  1" 


BY  THE  AID  OF  FIKE.  281 

Jerome,  who  was  the  first  to  hear  him,  lost  his  head  and 
cried  still  louder  without  moving  an  inch.  Mother  Scholas- 
tique  looked  out  at  the  window  and  exclaimed: 

"Great  God!  the  convent  is  burning." 

The  nuns,  who  were  going  to  vespers,  heard  the  excla- 
mation of  Mother  Scholastique  and  were  seized  with  a 
frightful  panic.  Claudine,  whose  mind  was  occupied  with 
Deroute's  words,  at  once  divined  his  intention  on  seeing 
him  run  over  the  terrace  with  a  frightened  air.  She  rushed 
to  Suzanne's  cell,  took  her  by  the  hand,  and  together  they 
descended  the  stair-way.  Mother  Scholastique  ran  to  the 
convent  bell  and  rang  it.  The  men  of  the  quarter,  who 
had  already  seen  the  flames  above  the  walls,  ran  up  at  the 
sound  of  the  tocsin.  The  doors  of  the  convent  were  broken 
open,  and  the  crowd  rushed  in  to  the  court.  This  was  what 
Deroute  wished.  As  soon  as  he  saw  the  people  enter  the 
gardens  of  the  convent,  he  ran  to  where  he  had  perceived 
Suzanne  and  Claudine. 

"Follow  me!"  he  said  to  them. 

There  were  so  many  nuns  among  the  crowd  that  no  one 
thought  to  look  at  them ;  they  made  thirty  steps  in  the 
direction  of  the  door;  Belle-Rose  and  Cornelius  had  en- 
tered with  the  crowd ;  they  recognized  Claudine  and  Su- 
zanne and  joined  them.  Bouletord  was  there;  a  move- 
ment of  the  crowd  caused  the  false  gardener's  hat  to  fall. 

"Deroute!"  cried  Bouletord,  who  understood  everything. 

He  wished  to  rush  forward,  but  a  living  rampart  was 
interposed  between  them.  Bouletord  foamed  with  fury. 
Belle-Rose  and  Cornelius,  throwing  away  their  cloaks, 
raised  the  one  Suzanne,  the  other  Claudine,  in  their  arms ; 
the  crowd,  believing  that  it  was  a  question  of  wounded 
nuns  who  were  being  transported  far  from  the  fire,  gave 
way  before  them. 

Monsieur  de  Charny  had  entered  with  the  rest ;  it  was 
the  hour  when  he  was  accustomed  to  make  his  daily 
round.  At  Bouletord'a  cry  he  armed  himself  with  a 
poniard  and  finding  an  egress  through  the  crowd,  threw 
himself  upon  Deroute,  who  preceded  Belle-Rose.  But  the 
sergeant  saw  everything  without  having  the  air  of  paying 
attention  to  anything ;  just  as  Monsieur  de  Charny  raised 
his  hand  he  seized  him  by  the  throat  and  parried  the  blow 
with  his  other  arm,  with  which  he  twisted  the  gentleman's 
wrist.  The  pain  caused  Monsieur  de  Charny  to  let  go  of 
his  poniard ;  the  sergeant's  fingers  were  pressed  tightly 
around  his  throat ;  his  face  became  purple,  his  knees  gave 
way,  and  he  fell  heavily. 


282  THE  BEGGAR. 

"Make  room  for  the  poor  sisters,"  repeated,  tranquilly, 
Deroute,  leaping  over  Monsieur  de  Charny's  body. 

They  reached  the  door  and  crossed  it;  Grippard  slipped 
away  a  moment. 

"Go!"  said  he,  "I  will  not  be  long." 

And  he  took  his  way  toward  the  Eue  St.  Maur.  The 
little  troop  gained  the  place  where  Christopher  was  guard- 
ing the  horses.  They  mounted  and  rode  away  at  a  gallop. 
Grippard  arrived  all  out  of  breath  a  moment  after,  and, 
plying  the  spur,  he  quickly  rejoined  the  fugitives.  The 
four  horses  champed  their  bits  and  made  a  thousand 
sparks  burst  under  their  feet.  A  great  noise  was  suddenly 
heard  behind  them ;  they  turned  their  heads  and  saw  an 
immense  whirlwind  of  flame  mount  toward  the  sky,  then 
fall. 

"The  sheds  have  fallen  in,"  said  Deroute;  "I  knew  that 
the  fire  would  ma*ko  a  bigger  scare  than  it  would  do  harm. " 

"I  owe  you  everything!"  Belle-Rose  said  to  him,  looking 
at  Suzanne,  whose  arms  were  wrapped  around  his  neck. 

"It  is  well!  it  is  well!  Keep  on  galloping, "  replied  De- 
route.  "Hey!  Grippard,  let  us  stay  behind.  I  imagine  that 
we  are  not  through  with  Bouletord." 


CHAPTER  XLH. 

THE  BEGGAR. 

Bouletord,  left  to  his  unaided  efforts  and  hemmed  in  by 
the  multitude,  took  more  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour  to  dis- 
engage himself.  His  men  went  and  came  without  under- 
standing anything  of  what  was  taking  place ;  they  had 
seen  so  many  persons  leave  that  they  no  longer  paid  any 
attention  to  anything  and  waited  for  orders  to  act.  Just 
as  he  had  seen  Monsieur  de  Charny  disappear  and  Deroute 
leave,  Bouletord  had  uttered  a  cry  of  rage  and  rushed 
toward  the  door  of  the  convent;  a  movement  of  the  crowd 
had  pushed  him  in  the  direction  of  Monsieur  de  Charny. 
Bouletord  saw  the  favorite  of  the  minister  stretched  out 
senseless  and  raised  him ;  Monsieur  de  Charny  opened 
his  eyes,  looked  around  him,  understood  everything  that 
had  taken  place,  and  bounded  to  his  feet. 

"Where  are  they?"  asked  Monsieur  de  Charny. 

Bouletord  pointed  to  the  door  with  a  despairing  gesture. 

"To  the  horses!"  cried  the  gentleman. 


THE  BEGGAR.  283 

When  they  succeeded  in  leaving  the  court  Monsieur  de 
Charny  was  white  and  Bouletord  purple  with  fury.  The 
one  was  mute  and  threatening;  the  other  hurled  forth  a 
thousand  imprecations. 

"To  horse!"  howled  Bouletord  to  the  first  archers  whom 
he  met. 

All  ran  toward  the  Rue  St.  Maur,  where  the  stable  was. 
As  they  rushed  forward,  Boulotord  at  their  head,  Monsieur 
de  Charny  perceived  Monsieur  de  Pomereux,  who  came 
galloping  up  to  the  scene  of  the  fire. 

"What  the  devil  is  taking  place  here, "  the  gentleman 
asked  the  favorite. 

"Nothing  much;  your  fiancee  is  being  carried  off." 

"Madame  d'Albergotti?" 

"Faith,  yes.  She  is  riding  behind  Belle-Rose.  You  have 
been  tricked,  Monsieur  le  Comte. " 

Monsieur  de  Pomereux  had,  as  the  reader  has  seen,  a 
good  share  of  vanity ;  the  thought  that  he  had  been  placed 
in  a  ridiculous  position  caused  him  to  blush. 

"Ah!  they  have  gone!"  said  he. 

"The  poor  widow  has  set  fire  to  the  convent  to  light  up 
her  second  wedding,"  said  Monsieur  de  Charny,  laughing. 

Monsieur  de  Pomeieux  thought  of  the  courtiers  who 
were  going  to  laugh  at  his  adventure,  and,  if  he  was  not 
a  man  to  fear  a  cannon-ball,  he  was  horribly  afraid  of 
ridicule. 

"What  road  have  they  taken,  do  you  know?"  he  said 
cutting  his  horse's  flanks  with  his  whip. 

"That  will  be  easy  to  find  out,"  replied  Monsieur  de 
Charny,  delighted  to  see  Monsieur  de  Pomereux  wrought 
up  to  the  point  to  which  he  wished  to  bring  him. 

Some  of  the  crowd  being  questioned,  answered  that  they 
had  seen  a  troop  of  four  cavaliers  galloping  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  quays.  Upon  a  sign  from  Monsieur  de  Pomer- 
eux, one  of  the  lackeys  offered  his  horse  to  Monsieur  de 
Charny,  and  they  set  out  in  pursuit  of  the  fugitives.  But 
it  was  necessary  to  stop  at  every  street  corner  to  question 
the  passers,  and  this  took  up  a  considerable  time. 
Meanwhile  Bouletord  and  his  comrades,  having  reached 
the  stable  in  the  Rue  St.  Maur,  prepared  to  mount  their 
horses ;  but  as  they  set  feet  in  the  stirrups,  all  fell  upon 
the  straw,  drawing  the  saddles  with  them.  The  girths 
were  cut.  Bouletord  swore  like  a  pagan.  Before  other 
girths  were  found  and  adjusted,  ten  minutes  had  been 
consumed.  Finally  they  started,  but  at  the  first  effort  the 
bridles  broke  near  the  curbs,  and  there  was  another  halt. 


284  THE  BEGGAR. 

The  bridles  had  been  tampered  with  the  same  as  the 
girths.  These  two  accidents,  succeeding  each  other  so 
closely,  awoke  Bouletord's  suspicions;  while  one  of  his 
men  was  entering  the  shop  of  a  harness  maker  he  looked 
around  him. 

"Where  is  Grippard?"  he  exclaimed. 

"He  is  not  with  us,"  answered  one  of  the  archers. 

"Has  any  one  seen  him?" 

"I  have!"  said  another  archer;  "I  was  on  guard  at  the 
stable  when  he  entered  it  almost  an  hour  ago." 

"Double  traitor!"  howled  Bouletord;  "if  I  do  not  cut  his 
heart  out  of  him,  may  I  be  damned." 

The  bridles  fixed  the  troop  moved  off.  Belle-Rose  and 
Cornelius  had  taken  their  course  through  the  Rue  du 
Four ;  at  the  carref our  of  Buci,  they  found  a  soldier  of  the 
watch  who  wished  to  oppose  their  passage.  Belle-Rose's 
horse  struck  him  in  the  breast,  and  the  soldier  rolled  over 
on  the  ground.  They  threw  themselves  into  the  Rue 
Dauphine,  which  was  crossed  in  an  instant.  At  the  en- 
trance of  the  Pont  Neuf  they  saw  a  squad  of  police.  De- 
route  perceived  them  first.  He  set  spurs  to  his  horse  and 
threw  himself  in  front,  followed  by  Grippard. 

"Run  to  them,"  said  Deroute,  "and  cry  with  all  your 
might,  'Service  of  the  king!'  " 

"Why?"  said  Grippard. 

"Go  and  cry  first,  mordieu!" 

Grippard  ran  to  the  troop  and  cried,  in  his  loudest  voice: 

"Service  of  the  king!" 

The  troop  opened,  and  the  fugitives  passed  like  a 
thunderbolt. 

After  the  Pont  Neuf  they  took  the  quays  and  gained  the 
Hotel  de  Ville.  The  little  troop  took  the  St.  Denis  road. 
The  plan  of  the  fugitives  was  very  simple;  they  counted, 
at  the  end  of  a  dozen  leagues,  to  gain  a  farm  in  the 
country,  to  pass  the  night  there,  and  to  return  the  next 
day  to  Paris,  where  no  one  would  think  to  look  for  them ; 
then,  at  the  first  good  opportunity,  they  would  join  Mon- 
sieur de  Luxembourg  and  place  themselves  under  his  im- 
mediate protection.  The  road  which  they  followed  led  to 
Pontoise.  The  horses  were  vigorous,  the  night  limpid,  the 
sky  luminous.  They  pushed  on  as  far  as  Franconville. 

At  Franconville,  Deroute  knocked  at  the  door  of  an  inn 
and  asked  for  a  sack  of  oats,  which  he  paid  for  without 
haggling.  They  made  a  halt  under  the  trees,  at  thirty 
steps  from  the  road,  and  the  provender  was  placed  under 
the  noses  of  the  horses,  who  immediately  went  to  eating 


THE  BEGGAR.  285 

it.  While  Belle-Rose  and  Cornelius  were  flying,  Bouletord 
\v as  in  hot  pursuit  of  them;  Monsieur  de  Pomereux  and 
Monsieur  de  Charny  had  preceded  him,  accompanied  by 
four  or  five  of  the  count's  servants.  At  Franconville  Mon- 
sieur de  Pomereux  and  his  lackeys,  better  mounted  than 
Bouletord,  left  the  police  behind.  The  young  count  and 
his  followers  had  horses  of  English  stock  accustomed  to 
hunts.  Monsieur  de  Pomereux  and  Monsieur  de  Charny 
rode  in  front,  the  lackeys  followed  at  twenty  steps,  then 
came  the  archers.  At  the  end  of  half  an  hour  the  distance 
which  separated  them  had  increased,  and  the  two  troops 
lost  sight  of  each  other.  Bouletord 's  spurs  were  red  with 
blood.  Meanwhile  Belle-Rose  and  Cornelius  kept  their 
steeds  at  a  rapid  pace  without  being  pressed. 

"We  must  spare  them,"  said  Deroute;  "when  we  have 
passed  the  Pontoise,  wt,  will  take  across  the  country  and 
tranquilly  retrace  our  steps  in  order  to  throw  the  police 
off  the  scent. ' ' 

As  their  little  troop  reached  Pierrelaye,  Grippard  and 
Deroute  heard  a  neigh  some  distance  behind  them.  The 
mare  which  Belle-Rose  was  riding  answered  it  by  another 
neigh.  Deroute  jumped  in  his  saddle. 

"We  are  being  followed!"  said  he,  quite  low. 

"I  believe  it,"  replied  Grippard. 

Deroute  reached  Belle-Rose  in  two  bounds.  But  before 
he  had  opened  his  mouth,  he  understood  by  the  increased 
speed  of  tho  cavalcade  that  the  horses  had  felt  the  spur. 
On  hearing  his  horse  neigh,  Monsieur  de  Pomereux  pricked 
up  his  ears. 

"There  are  cavaliers  before  us,"  said  he,  and  leaning 
over  his  stallion's  mane,  he  hastened  rapidly  on. 

Belle-Rose  and  Cornelius  exchanged  a  look,  and  each  of 
them  surrounded  his  companion  with  a  firmer  arm.  Their 
horses  had  already  crossed  eight  leagues  at  a  gallop ;  they 
did  very  well  even  as  far  as  St.  Ouen-1'Aumone,  but  in 
traversing  the  village,  Belle-Rose  felt  his  mare  totter 
under  him ;  at  the  same  moment  Cornelius'  horse  stum- 
bled and  sank  upon  its  knees ;  two  digs  of  the  spur  made 
them  rise  again,  and  the  animals  bounded,  neighing  with 
pain.  Another  neigh  resounded  upon  the  route,  more 
sonorous  and  still  nearer.  Deroute  loaded  his  pistols. 

"In  ten  minutes  they  have  gained  half  a  league,"  said 
he;  "in  half  an  hour,  if  they  keep  on  in  this  fashion,  they 
•will  be  upon  us." 

Belle-Rose's  and  Cornelius'  horses,  sustained  by  the 
bridle  and  the  spur,  fled  along  the  route,  but  their  flanks 


286      THE  ABBESS  OF  THE   CONVENT  OF  ST.  CLAIRE. 

were  white  with  foam,  and  they  were  giving  way  under 
their  double  burden.  Suzanne  and  Claudine  dared  not 
speak,  but  at  times  they  threw,  above  the  shoulders  of 
the  cavaliers,  a  long  glance  over  the  white  road  which  was 
lost  in  the  transparent  night.  Deroute  and  the  faithful 
Grippard  galloped  side  by  side,  mute  and  resolute.  The 
little  troop  turned  around  Pontoise ;  the  foam  of  the  pant- 
ing horses  was  becoming  red  about  the  nostrils.  When 
they  were  near  d'Ennery,  Deroute  heard  pass  with  the 
breeze  a  neigh  so  vigorous  that  he  turned  his  head.  A 
black  speck  was  visible  upon  the  road,  growing  larger  and 
larger. 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

THE  ABBESS  OF  THE  CONVENT  OF  ST.  CLAIRE. 

This  black  speck  was  Monsieur  de  Pomereux  riding  at 
full  speed.  Scarcely  had  he  heard  the  neigh  of  the  mare 
ridden  by  Belle-Rose,  when  he  dug  both  spurs  into  his 
horse ;  the  stallion,  excited  by  the  emanations  which  were 
exhaled  from  the  humid  flanks  of  the  mare,  left  like  an 
arrow.  In  three  minutes  the  count  had  passed  Monsieur 
de  Charny.  Nothing  was  heard  of  Bouletord  and  his  men. 
At  some  hundred  steps  from  d'Ennery,  Deroute,  measuring 
with  his  eye  the  distance  which  still  separated  Belle-Rose 
from  Monsieur  de  Pomereux,  whom  he  had  recognized, 
understood  that  it  was  time  to  take  the  decisive  part.  He 
rushed  toward  the  captain,  and  pointed  out  to  him  with 
his  finger  the  cavalier  who  was  approaching  with  the 
rapidity  of  a  thunderbolt. 

"There  are  four  men  behind  him,"  said  he. 

Belle-Rose  leaned  toward  Cornelius. 

"I  confide  Suzanne  to  you, "  he  murmured  to  him. 

"I  was  going  to  confide  Claudine  to  you, "  replied  the 
Irishman. 

"Grab  your  pistols!"  exclaimed  Deroute,  "here  they 
are!" 

The  sergeant  fired  at  once,  but  the  shot,  not  aimed  well, 
only  plowed  its  way  through  the  count's  hat.  The  count 
passed  before  him  like  a  bullet  and  fell  upon  Belle-Rose. 
But  scarcely  had  the  two  blades  crossed,  when  Monsieur 
de  Pomereux  recognized  the  stranger  who  had  come  to  his 
aid  at  Dover. 


THE  ABBESS  OF  THE  CONVENT  OF  ST.  CLAIKE.      287 

"Morbleu!"  he  exclaimed,  "I  owe  you  my  life!"  and  he 
lowered  the  point  of  his  sword. 

Belle-Rose  pushed  straight  up  to  him. 

"Forget  it  and  let  us  finish!"  he  exclaimed. 

Monsieur  de  Pomereux  let  his  sword  remain  lowered 
and  saluted  him  with  the  hand. 

"In  my  place,  monsieur,  you  would  do  nothing  of  the 
kind,"  he  said;  "permit  me,  then,  to  imitate  you  in  some- 
thing. I  have  besides  my  revenge  to  take,  and  I  wish  it  in 
its  entirety." 

The  count  spoke  with  a  dignity  which  struck  Belle-Rose ; 
in  his  turn  the  captain  turned  the  point  of  his  sword 
toward  the  ground. 

"Here  are  the  lackeys!"  exclaimed  Deroute. 

"The  lackeys  belong  to  the  master,  and  the  master  is 
conquered,"  replied  the  count. 

As  he  said  this,  he  took  his  sword  in  both  hands,  and 
breaking  the  blade,  he  threw  away  the  pieces. 

"What  are  you  doing?"  exclaimed  Belle-Rose. 

"You  have  conquered  and  disarmed  me,  that  is  all,"  re- 
plied the  count. 

Suzanne  gave  him  her  hand;  Monsieur  de  Pomereux 
kissed  it  with  as  much  grace  as  if  he  had  been  at  a  ball, 
and  threw  himself  before  his  lackeys. 

"Down  with  the  muskets!"  he  exclaimed. 

The  stupefied  lackeys  obeyed.  Monsieur  de  Pomereux 
made  some  steps  in  the  direction  of  Belle-Rose  and  Cor- 
nelius. 

"Go,"  he  said  to  them;  "over  there,  to  your  left,  in  the 
direction  of  Livilliers ;  there  is  an  abbey  where  you  will 
undoubtedly  be  received.  But  above  all,  do  not  delay  a 
minute.  Listen!" 

All  listened  intently.  The  gallop  of  a  troop  of  cavaliers 
resounded  a  quarter  of  a  league  away. 

"Monsieur  de  Charny  is  not  far  off,  and  Bouletord  fol- 
lows him  with  seven  or  eight  archers, "  continued  Monsieur 
de  Pomereux. 

"You  are  a  noble  young  man!"  exclaimed  Cornelius, 
shaking  him  cordially  by  the  hand. 

"What  would  you,  one  must  pay  one's  debts,"  Monsieur 
de  Pomereux  gayly  answered  him. 

The  fugitives  entered  a  path  which  led  through  the 
fields.  They  had  not  made  five  hundred  steps  when  Boule- 
tord and  Monsieur  de  Charny  came  up  with  Monsieur  de 
Pomereux.  The  police  rode  fresh  horses,  which  they  had 
found  at  an  inn  upon  the  road,  a  little  before  St.  Quo  v. 


288      THE  ABBESS  OF  THE  CONVENT  OF  ST.  CLAIRE. 

1'Aumone.  These  horses  belonged  to  a  band  of  jockeys 
who  were  taking  them  to  Paris ;  Bouletord  having  heard 
them  neigh  and  prance  in  the  stable,  had  stopped  and  de- 
manded them  in  the  name  of  the  king.  The  jockeys  had 
resisted  at  first,  but  at  sight  of  the  uniform  and  muskets 
they  had  submitted ;  the  horses  which  Bouletord  and  his 
men  had  been  riding  were  left  in  the  stable,  and  they  rode 
away  on  the  others,  quickly  coming  up  with  Monsieur  de 
Charny. 

"Are  they  taken?"  asked  Monsieur  de  Charny,  a  mo- 
ment immovable  in  the  middle  of  the  road. 
'Who?" 

'Eh !  parbleu!  Belle-Rose  and  his  gang?" 
'My  faith,  they  are  still  flying." 
'They  are  flying,  and  you  do  not  pursue  them?" 
'I  have  my  account,  my  dear  Monsieur  de  Charny, "  re- 
plied Monsieur  de  Pomereux.     "My  sword  is  in  pieces,  my 
hat  is  ruined,  and  in  looking  more  closely,  I  believe  I  have 
two  inches  of  steel  in  my  coat." 

"Sangdieu!  forward!"  howled  Bouletord,  who  had 
stopped  three  minutes  to  hear  this  conversation. 

"Forward!  you  fellows!"  cried  Monsieur  de  Charny,  ad- 
dressing himself  to  the  lackeys. 

Monsieur  de  Pomereux  threw  himself  in  front  of  them. 

"Every  one  of  you  stay  where  you  are!"  he  exclaimed. 
And  turning  to  Monsieur  de  Charny,  he  added:  "My  rival 
has  my  word;  go,  we  will  be  your  witnesses." 

Monsieur  de  Charny  threw  upon  the  count  a  disdainful 
look  and  rode  away. 

Monsieur  de  Pomereux  followed  with  the  lackeys.  Be- 
tween Bouletord  and  Belle-Rose  there  was  almost  a  quarter 
of  a  league;  both  troops  moved  forward  rapidly.  On 
rounding  a  small  hill,  Deroute  got  down  off  his  horse. 

"Take  my  horse,"  said  he  to  Belle-Rose ;  "he  is  in  better 
trim  than  yours,  having  carried  only  me." 

Grippard  imitated  Deroute  in  favor  of  Cornelius.  The 
exchange  was  made  in  two  seconds,  and  the  young  people 
set  spurs  to  their  horses,  who  plunged  forward  with  a 
desperate  energy.  It  was  a  last  effort,  the  impulse  lasted 
five  minutes ;  at  the  end  of  this  time  the  horses  began  to 
lose  ground.  Bouletord  gained  steadily  upon  them.  Be- 
tween Bouletord  and  his  archers  there  was  a  hundred 
steps  distance.  Deroute  and  Grippard,  who  were  riding 
together,  formed  a  sort  of  rear-guard  for  the  fugitives.  As 
they  emerged  from  a  little  wood,  Deroute  saw  in  the  plain 
the  white  walls  of  an  abbey  whose  steeple  was  outlined 


THE  ABBESS  OF  THE  CONVENT  OF  ST.   CLAIKE.      289 

upon  the  pale  sky.  At  this  sight  Bouletord,  who  divined 
the  intention  of  the  fugitives,  uttered  a  cry  of  rage  and 
pricked  his  horse  with  the  point  of  his  sword.  His  archers 
imitated  him ;  they  seemed  to  devour  the  ground.  Deroute 
measured  with  his  glance  the  distance  which  lay  between 
Belle-Rose  and  the  abbey ;  it  was  sufficient  to  make  it 
probable  that  Bouletord  would  reach  the  captain  before  he 
had  crossed  it. 

"Now  is  the  time,"  said  the  sergeant. 

He  stopped  his  horse,  took  the  musket  hung  to  the 
saddle-horn,  and  loaded  it.  When  Deroute  turned  toward 
Bouletord,  a  terrible  expression  was  depicted  upon  his 
face.  He  lowered  his  musket  and  held  his  enemy  under 
his  aim  for  the  space  of  ten  seconds ;  his  arm  seemed  of 
iron  like  the  barrel,  so  immovable  was  it.  When  Bouletord 
was  not  more  than  about  thirty  steps  away,  he  fired. 
Bouletord  let  go  the  reins  and  fell  upon  the  horse's  neck. 
His  hand  seized  the  mane  and  held  to  it ;  the  frightened 
horse  flew  like  an  arrow  and  passed  before  Deroute,  carry- 
ing away  its  rider,  whose  livid  head  beat  its  flanks.  The 
ball  had  struck  the  quartermaster  in  the  forehead.  At  the 
end  of  a  hundred  steps  Bouletord  slipped  from  the  horse 
and  fell  at  the  feet  of  Belle-Rose,  who  seized  the  horse  by 
the  bridle  and  stopped  it.  Monsieur  de  Charny  was  follow- 
ing Bouletord  at  the  head  of  the  archers.  Grippard,  as  the 
reader  knows,  imagined  that  in  everything  it  was  best  to 
imitate  Deroute.  Just  as  Deroute  took  his  musket,  Grip- 
pard took  his,  when  Deroute  took  aim  at  Bouletord, 
Grippard  sought  something  to  place  at  the  end  of  his 
barrel.  Monsieur  de  Charny  came  in  very  nicely.  After 
the  sergeant's  shot,  Grippard,  like  a  conscientious  man, 
pressed  the  trigger  with  his  finger.  But  Monsieur  de 
Charny 's  horse  having  reared  at  the  first  explosion,  Grip- 
pard's  ball,  which  should  have  struck  Monsieur  de  Charny, 
struck  the  beast  instead.  The  horse  fell  upon  its  hocks, 
rose,  and  fell  again,  drawing  Monsieur  de  Charny  down 
with  it  in  its  fall.  The  police,  seeing  their  two  chiefs 
stretched  out  on  the  ground,  came  to  a  sudden  stop ;  two 
or  three  archers  dismounted  in  order  to  assist  Monsieur  de 
Charny,  the  others  discharged  their  muskets  at  Deroute 
and  Grippard;  but  Grippard  and  Deroute  were  already 
flying  in  the  direction  of  the  abbey;  the  balls  whistled  in 
their  ears,  and  that  was  all.  Monsieur  de  Pomereux,  at 
the  head  of  his  lackeys,  galloped  behind  the  archers  and 
appeared  to  take  a  keen  interest  in  the  incidents  of  this 
skirmish.  As  soon  as  he  was  near  Monsieur  de  Charny  he 


290      THE  ABBESS  OF  THE  CONVENT  OF  ST.   CLAIRE. 

dismounted  and  went  to  inform  himself  as  to  the  state  of 
his  health. 

"When  you  fell,  monsieur,  I  was  much  afraid,"  said  he; 
"but,  so  far  as  I  can  see,  you  are  not  wounded." 

"Not  at  all,"  replied  Monsieur  de  Charny,  in  a  surly 
tone. 

"It  is  a  stroke  of  luck,  monsieur;  for,  in  truth,  we  must 
render  justice  to  these  fellows'  talents.  As  a  result  of  it,  I 
lose  a  horse  worth  a  thousand  crowns." 

"Eh!  monsieur,  instead  of  discoursing,  it  seems  to  me 
that  you  would  do  better  to  gallop!"  exclaimed  Monsieur 
de  Charny. 

"That  is  a  point  upon  which  I  regret  not  to  be  in  accord 
with  your  lordship.  Certainly  I  am  not  altogether  dead 
like  that  poor  devil  Bouletord,  but  I  am  not  much  better 
off." 

Monsieur  de  Charny  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"What  would  you?"  continued  Monsieur  de  Pomereux, 
"these  people  have  not  my  life,  but  they  have  my  word." 

Monsieur  de  Charny  bit  his  lips  till  the  blood  came. 

"Your  horse,"  said  he,  addressing  an  archer. 

The  archer  dismounted,  and  Monsieur  de  Charny  leaped 
into  the  saddle. 

"Forward!  you  men!"  he  exclaimed. 

All  the  troop  followed  him. 

Monsieur  de  Pomereux  threw  his  eyes  in  the  direction 
of  the  abbey.  The  fugitives  had  profited  by  the  disorder 
occasioned  by  the  death  of  Bouletord  and  the  fall  of  Mon- 
sieur de  Charny.  They  were  now  within  a  hundred  steps 
of  the  abbey.  The  two  women  had  been  placed  upon 
Bouletord's  horse;  they  were  the  first  to  reach  the  abbey. 

"Madame,"  they  said  to  the  nun  who  received  them, 
"there  are  two  gentlemen  here  who  claim  your  protection 
— if  you  do  not  come  to  their  aid,  they  are  lost." 

"Let  them  enter  if  they  are  innocent,  leb  them  also  enter 
if  they  are  guilty,"  said  the  nun,  "the  house  of  God  is  an 
exile  open  to  all  the  unfortunate." 

Belle-Rose's  horse  fell  at  the  door  of  the  abbey ;  that  of 
Cornelius  had  fallen  at  fifty  steps  from  it ;  the  blood  came 
from  its  nostrils ;  it  pawed  the  earth  with  its  feet  and  died. 
Deroute  and  Grippard  had  abandoned  theirs  upon  the  road 
and  were  running  as  fast  as  their  legs  could  carry  them. 
All  entered  through  the  half -open  door;  just  as  the  nun 
pushed  it  shut,  Monsieur  de  Charny  was  seen  passing  like 
a  flash  between  the  trees  of  the  avenue.  Suzanne  fell  on 
her  knees  and  thanked  God. 


'The  lioti^e  of  God  is  open  to  all  the  unfortunate,"  snid  the  nun — p.  200 


THE  ABBESS  OP  THE  CONVENT  OF  ST.  CLAIKE.      291 

"In  faith!"  said  Monsieur  de  Pomereux,  when  he  was  at 
the  foot  of  the  walls,  "I  believe  that  our  birds  have  found 
another  nest.  It  is  my  opinion  that  it  would  be  well  for 
us  now  to  seek  another  inn." 

But  Monsieur  de  Charny  passed  straight  before  him  and 
struck  at  the  door  of  the  abbey  with  the  handle  of  his 
sword.  Monsieur  de  Pomereux  stopped  his  horse  and  be- 
gan to  caress  it  with  his  hand. 

"Vulcan  will  be  foundered,"  said  he;  "it  is  a  thousand 
crowns  that  I  will  make  Monsieur  de  Louvois  pay  me." 

Monsieur  de  Charny  kept  on  striking. 

"Monsieur,"  continued  the  count,  "if  you  knock  so 
hard,  you  will  have  to  answer  to  the  Bishop  of  Paris,  who 
is  very  jealous  of  the  rights  of  the  church." 

All  this  tumult  at  an  advanced  hour  of  the  night  had 
drawn  the  abbey  from  its  repose. 

"Open  in  the  name  of  the  king!"  cried  Monsieur  de 
Charny. 

Meanwhile  the  abbess  made  her  appearance.  The  fugi- 
tives had  been  introduced  into  a  kind  of  parlor,  where 
they  were  waiting,  pursued  by  the  threatening  voice  of 
Monsieur  de  Charny.  When  the  door  of  the  parlor  opened, 
the  abbess  trembled  and  drew  her  vail  around  her  face. 

"Welcome,  my  sisters;  and  you,  gentlemen,  hope,"  said 
she. 

Her  grave  and  sweet  voice  calmed  their  anguish ;  it  ap- 
peared to  Claudine  that  they  no  longer  had  anything  to 
fear;  she  bowed  over  the  Abbess'  hand  and  kissed  it. 
Belle-Rose  felt  his  heart  beat  without  being  able  to  under- 
stand why. 

"Say  to  that  man  who  strikes  at  our  door, "  said  the 
abbess,  addressing  herself  to  a  sister, "that  the  superior  of 
the  Abbey  of  St.  Claire  d'  Ennery  will  presently  answer 
him  herself. ' ' 

The  abbess  withdrew,  and  the  sister  went  out  to  execute 
her  order.  At  the  sister's  words,  Monsieur  de  Charny 
threw  a  look  of  triumph  at  Monsieur  de  Pomereux  and 
sheathed  his  sword. 

Monsieur  de  Pomereux  looked  at  Monsieur  de  Charny, 
smiled  and  did  not  reply. 

"Come,"  thought  the  count,  "if  he  is  silent,  it  is  that 
he  believes  me  lost." 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  passed  in  a  profoud  silence.  Mon- 
sieur de  Charny  went  and  came,  somber  and  threatening, 
before  the  great  door  of  the  abbey.  Monsieur  de  Pomereux 
stealthily  examined  the  priming  of  his  pistol. 


292      THE  ABBESS  OF  THE  CONVENT  OF  ST.   CLAIRE. 

"After  all  this  Monsieur  de  Charny  is  a  bandit,"  he  said 
to  himself,  "and  I  shall  get  out  of  it  with  a  foreign  trip." 

Just  then  the  great  door  of  the  abbey  opened,  and  a 
marvelous  spectacle  was  presented  to  the  eyes  of  the 
cavaliers.  The  sanctuary  of  the  abbey  was  lit  up;  banners 
floated  around  the  altar,  and  incense  smoked  in  the  casso- 
lettes; the  kneeling  sisters  were  singing  sacred  hymns, 
and  at  the  feet  of  the  protecting  cross  were  to  be  seen  the 
kneeling  fugitives.  The  Christ  seemed  to  cover  them  with 
its  mutilated  arms,  and  the  marble  angels  raised  to  heaven 
their  hands  joined  in  the  attitude  of  prayer.  At  the  mo- 
ment when  the  door  revolved  upon  its  hinges  the  abbess, 
preceded  by  the  cross  and  banner,  and  followed  by  nuns  in 
long  files,  turned  toward  the  porch.  The  holy  procession 
advanced  slowly  and  stopped  beside  the  great  columns ; 
the  abbess  crossed  the  threshold ;  the  silver  cross  shone 
between  her  hands,  and  the  banner  of  the  order  floated 
above  her  forehead.  When  she  had  set  foot  outside  the 
abbey,  the  songs  died  away.  The  archers  had  at  first 
taken  off  their  hats,  but  at  sight  of  the  cross,  they  hesi- 
tated ;  one  of  them  dismounted,  and  throwing  down  his 
musket,  knelt  down  upon  the  grass,  another  imitated  him, 
then  a  third,  then  all,  conquered  by  this  costume  of  re- 
ligion. Monsieur  de  Pomereux  was  the  first  to  uncover  his 
forehead  and  leap  from  the  saddle.  Monsieur  de  Charny 
alone  remained  in  the  saddle,  his  head  uncovered  and  his 
hand  upon  the  guard  of  his  sword.  Between  the  abbess 
and  he  there  were  scarcely  ten  steps ;  beyond  the  sisters, 
in  the  light  of  the  choir,  he  saw  Belle-Rose  and  Suzanne ; 
near  them,  Cornelius  and  Claudine;  behind  them,  Deroute 
and  Grippard.  Monsieur  de  Charny  urged  forward  his 
horse.  The  horse  made  three  steps  and  stopped.  The 
brilliant  light  of  the  chapel  frightened  it.  The  abbess  ex- 
tended the  cross  tov,  ard  Monsieur  de  Charny,  and  with  the 
other  hand  she  pointed  out  the  fugitives. 

"This  is  the  house  of  God,"  said  she,  "and  God  protects 
those  whom  you  seek.  Enter  now  if  you  dare. " 

Monsieur  de  Charny  recoiled  slowly  like  a  conquered 
tiger.  When  he  was  twenty  step  away,  the  abbess  returned 
to  the  chapel,  and  the  door  closed  with  a  sonorous  noise. 
Then,  pushing  aside  her  vail,  she  showed  to  the  fugitives 
the  face  of  Genevieve  de  La  Noue,  Duchess  de  Chateauf ort. 


A  NEST  IN  A  CONVENT.  293 

CHAPTER  XLIV. 

A    NEST    IN    A    CONVENT. 

After  the  door  of  the  Abbey  of  St.  Claire  d'Ennery  had 
closed  upon  the  fugitives,  Monsieur  de  Pomereux  turned 
to  Monsieur  de  Charny. 

"Well,  monsieur?"  said  the  count. 

"I  return  to  Paris,"  replied  Monsieur  de  Charny. 

"To  see  my  glorious  cousin,  no  doubt." 

"To  see  Monsieur  de  Louvois,  to  whom  I  will  make 
known  the  aid  which  you  have  lent  me  in  all  this  affair ;  I 
have  no  doubt  but  what  he  will  demonstrate  to  you  his 
keen  satisfaction  in  the  matter." 

"Parbleu!  my  dear  Monsieur  de  Charny,  I  count  on  your 
friendship  to  be  assured  that  you  will  be  the  first  to  bring 
me  news  of  it." 

The  body  of  Bouletord  was  picked  up  from  the  road,  and 
the  little  troop  gained  Pontoise,  where  Monsieur  de  Charny 
and  Monsieur  de  Pomereux  separated.  The  former  took 
post  horses  and  returned  to  Paris ;  the  other  looked  around 
the  streets  until  he  had  found  a  cabaret,  and  gayly  in- 
stalled himself  therein.  Monsieur  de  Pomereux  conducted 
himself  in  a  manner  to  prove  to  the  most  incredulous  that 
bad  fortune  had  not  deprived  him  of  his  appetite.  At  day- 
break the  count  buckled  on  his  belt  and  paid  his  reckoning. 

"Monsieur  de  Charny  must,  by  this  time,"  he  said  to 
himself,  "have  rendered  an  account  to  my  illustrious 
cousin  of  the  result  of  our  pursuit.  It  is  a  narrative  which 
will  have  shown  me  under  such  an  heroic  point  of  view, 
that  I  will  hardly  know  how  to  escape  the  gratitude  of 
monseigneur  le  ministre,  I  have  indeed  a  small  pretext  to 
allege  in  my  justification,  but  with  a  minister  of  that 
character,  it  is  necessary  to  be  fourteen  times  right  not  to 
be  in  the  wrong ;  my  pretext  is  insufficient.  I  have  still 
the  resource  of  going  to  fight  the  Turks,  but,  in  the  mean- 
time, the  shortest  way  is  to  go  to  Chantilly.  When  I  shall 
be  in  the  house  of  the  Prince  de  Conde,  the  minister  will 
respect  me  beyond  all  question.  My  pretext  will  at  once 
take  the  stature  of  a  truth." 

Monsieur  de  Pomereux  mounted  his  horse,  took  an  un- 
used road  and  went  straight  to  the  royal  residence  of  the 
Prince  de  Conde.  The  Prince  de  Conde,  the  same  who  was 
one  day  to  be  called  the  great  Cond6,  had  seen  the  father 


294  A  NEST  IN  A  CONVENT. 

and  eldest  brother  of  the  Comte  de  Pomereux  upon  the 
battle-field  of  Rocroi ;  the  brother  had  been  killed  in  Flan- 
ders, fighting  under  him.  He  gave  a  cordial  welcome  to 
him  who  came  to  sit  down  in  the  shadow  of  his  name. 
Monsieur  de  Pomereux  could  at  once  regard  himself  as  an 
officer  of  his  household.  When  Monsieur  de  Charny  had 
informed  Monsieur  de  Louvois  of  the  events  of  the  night, 
the  minister  leaped  in  his  chair.  He  had  him  repeat  the 
details  of  this  flight,  and  Monsieur  de  Charny  omitted  no 
circumstance  of  it.  Monsieur  de  Louvois  had  sat  down 
again  and  was  listening  to  him  with  keen  attention.  This 
apparent  calm  in  such  a  violent  nature,  announced  a 
deep  resentment.  After  he  had  finished,  Monsieur  de 
Louvois  arose. 

"You  know,"  said  he,  "His  Majesty's  disposition.  The 
king  does  not  trifle  in  matters  of  religion.  All  that  which 
concerns  the  things  of  the  church  is  sacred  to  him.  If  you 
had  penetrated  the  sanctuary  of  the  abbey,  I  would  have 
been  constrained  to  disown  you,  and  perhaps  he  would 
never  have  pardoned  me  this  violence.  We  must  wait." 

Monsieur  de  Charny  fixed  his  piercing  look  upon  the 
minister. 

"To  wait  is  not  to  forget, "  continued  Monsieur  de  Lou- 
vois. "Let  it  be  in  a  month  or  a  year,  sooner  or  later, 
Belle-Rose  and  Madame  d'Albergotti  will  leave  the  Abbey 
of  St.  Claire  d'Ennery;  fortune  has  aided  them  too  of  ten 
not  to  betray  them  some  day.  That  day  will  be  ours." 

"We  will  wait,"  said  Monsieur  de  Charny,  with  a 
sinister  smile. 

"Find  out  what  they  are  doing  and  what  they  wish  to 
do.  If  either  or  both  of  them  try  to  quit  the  abbey,  place 
no  obstacle  in  their  way,  but  watch  for  their  departure. 
Too  much  precaution  would  frighten  them  and  give  to 
Madame  de  Chateaufort  and  Monsieur  de  Luxembourg  the 
time  to  act  for  them.  They  must  be  imprudent.  You 
understand  me?" 

"Perfectly." 

"We  have  been  tricked  twice;  it  is  twice  too  many 
times;  Belle-Rose  has  escaped  from  the  Bastile,  Madame 
d'Albergotti  has  fled  from  the  convent,  they  are  now 
united " 

"One  victory  will  avenge  two  defeats." 

"As  to  Monsieur  de  Pomereux,  I  will  show  him  that 
chivalry  is  out  of  date." 

"I  believe  that  he  was  wounded,  monseigneur, "  said 
Monsieur  de  Charny,  with  an  air  of  commiseration." 


A  NEST  IN  A  CONVENT.  295 

"Why  did  he  not  continue?  He  would  have  had  less 
trouble  to  get  himself  killed." 

"But  he  had  pledged  his  word." 

"And  his  word  pledges  his  head,  monsieur." 

While  Monsieur  de  Pomereux  was  at  Chantilly  with  the 
Prince  de  Conde,  and  Monsieur  de  Charny  with  Monsieur 
de  Louvois  at  Paris,  the  fugitives  were  blessing  God  who 
had  protected  them  in  their  enterprise.  No  expression 
could  paint  the  surprise  of  Belle-Rose  and  Suzanne  when 
they  saw  the  face  of  Madame  de  Chateaufort.  Both  looked 
at  her  in  a  frightened  manner,  while  she  advanced  toward 
them,  calm  and  smiling.  It  was  no  longer  the  same 
woman;  grief  had  passed  over  that  beautiful  forehead, 
and  it  had  left  behind  an  unalterable  sadness,  spread  like 
a  vail  over  her  features. 

"Be  without  distrust,"  she  said  to  them ;  "this  house  is 
yours,  and  the  hand  of  God  is  between  you  and  those  who 
hate  you." 

Genevieve  embraced  Suzanne  and  Claudine  and  saluted 
Belle-Rose  with  a  pale  and  sweet  smile.  Belle-Rose  found 
nothing  to  say  in  reply. 

In  the  heart  of  Suzanne  there  was  no  longer  room  for 
hatred.  If  jealousy  awoke  for  a  moment  at  sight  of  Gene- 
vieve, she  quickly  dismissed  this  sentiment,  unworthy  of 
both,  and  returned  the  abbess'  sisterly  kiss.  The  nuns  re- 
tired to  their  cells,  and  Genevieve  herself  showed  the 
guests  to  the  apartments  destined  for  them.  Belle-Rose, 
Cornelius,  Deroute,  and  Grippard  were  established  in  a 
detached  building  in  the  gardens  of  the  abbey;  Suzanne 
and  Claudine  remained  with  the  abbess. 

The  next  day  at  noon  Madame  de  Chateaufort  sent  for 
Belle-Rose.  She  received  him  in  an  oratory  whose  only 
window  opened  upon  a  landscape  such  as  Paul  Poter 
loved.  In  the  distance,  a  river — the  Oise — bathed  with 
its  sluggish  waters  great  plains  adorned  with  poplars;  on 
the  misty  horizon  were  the  steeples  of  Anvers  and  Heron- 
ville,  some  cottages  scattered  here  and  there  behind 
clumps  of  trees,  weeping-willows  along  the  streams,  and 
in  the  grass  a  herd  of  cows  and  oxen.  The  sun  tinted 
these  two  landscapes  with  a  golden  light  which  seemed 
sifted  by  the  fog.  The  merles  whistled  among  the  hedges, 
and  the  rattling  of  the  cow-bells  was  heard  in  the  mead- 
ows. A  sort  of  monastic  luxury  shone  in  the  oratory ;  the 
abbess  had  not  been  able  to  prevent  herself  remaining  a 
great  lady.  The  ivory  Christ  was  the  most  beautiful  model 
of  Jean  Goujon ;  the  pictures  attached  to  the  oak  panels 


296  A  NEST  IN  A  CONVENT. 

belonged  to  the  best  Italian  painters,  among  them  being 
a  Nativity,  by  Corregio,  a  St.  Claire,  of  Andre  del  Sarto,  a 
Virgin  with  the  Child,  of  Guido ;  the  holy-water  basin  and 
the  angel  were  the  work  of  Germain  Pilou.  In  this  ora- 
tory, religion  made  itself  sweet  and  attractive.  Genevieve 
could  not  avoid  a  keen  emotion  on  seeing  Belle-Rose.  A 
tear  hovered  between  her  eyelashes. 

"I  thought  myself  strong, "  she  said  to  him,  "and  see  how 
your  presence  stirs  my  heart.  It  is  a  proof  no  doubt  that 
God  has  wished  to  try  me ;  he  has  aided  me,  he  will  aid 
me." 

Belle-Rose's  heart  gave  a  bound;  he  turned  aside  his  eyes 
and  looked  through  the  window  at  the  fields  and  the  hori- 
zon to  keep  Genevieve  from  seeing  his  emotion. 

"And  besides,  Jacques,  why  should  I  not  weep  before 
you?"  she  continued;  "there  are  hours  when  tears  are 
agreeable  to  God;  it  seems  to  me  that  suffering  is  more 
fruitful  than  prayer,  and  I  have  suffered  so  much  that  I 
begin  to  believe  that  I  am  pardoned. " 

Conquered  by  these  words,  Belle-Bose  took  Genevieve's 
hand  and  carried  it  to  his  heart ;  his  eyes  were  filled  with 
tears,  and  he  no  longer  concealed  them. 

"You,  too!"  said  she;  "then  I  am  still  dear  to  you. 
Stay,  Jacques!  I  have  consecrated  all  my  life  and  all  my 
soul  to  God,  and  yet  not  a  day  passes  that  I  do  not  pray  to 
Him  for  you." 

"You  are  my  sister,  Genevieve,  and  another  life  which 
you  do  not  share  would  be  little  to  me, ' '  Belle-Rose  said  to 
her. 

Genevieve  softly  pressed  his  hand. 

"Your  words  are  sweet  to  me,  "said  she,  "but  permit 
me  to  forget  myself  in  order  to  speak  of  you." 

"Speak,  Genevieve." 

"I  have  talked  all  night  with  Suzanne;  she  has  un- 
bosomed herself  to  me  as  to  a  sister,  and  I  know  what 
griefs  have  agitated  you  both  since  that  evening  at  Ville- 
juif .  It  is  the  hand  of  God  which  has  led  you  here.  You 
have  entered  here  wandering  and  proscribed,  you  will 
leave  it  free  and  married. " 

Belle-Rose  trembled  at  these  words. 

"If  misfortune  visits  you,  at  least  you  will  be  two  to 
support  it ;  if  happiness  smiles  on  you  at  last,  it  will  ap- 
pear more  sweet  to  you  being  together, "  added  Madame 
de  Chateauf ort.  "You  must  not  quit  this  exile  before  a 
priest  has  blessed  your  love.  Two  spouses  can  live  in  the 
shade  of  this  abbey;  can  two  lovers  do  so?" 


A  NEST  IN  A  CONVENT.  297 

"I  will  do  as  Suzanne  wishes,"  said  Belle-Rose. 

"Suzanne  is  ready,"  replied  Genevieve;  "in  three  days 
you  will  be  married." 

Belle-Rose  then  withdrew.  Left  alone,  Madame  de 
Chateaufort  knelt  down  before  her  prie-Dieu. 

"My  God!"  said  she,  in  a  voice  broken  by  sobs,  "bless 
them  and  may  they  be  happy." 

She  remained  a  long  time  immovable ;  when  she  arose, 
her  face  was  like  that  of  a  martyr,  suffering  and  resigned. 
The  Abbess  of  St.  Claire  d'Ennery  sent  for  the  Bishop  of 
Mantes,  who  promised  to  give  to  the  young  couple  the 
nuptial  benediction,  and  it  was  decided  that  Claudine  and 
Cornelius  should  get  married  on  the  same  day. 

The  evening  before  the  day  fixed  for  the  ceremony,  Mon- 
sieur de  Pomereux  presented  himself  at  the  abbey.  No 
sooner  than  he  had  been  announced  Belle-Rose  and  Cor- 
nelius ran  to  meet  him.  The  three  young  people  embraced. 

"Morbleu!"  exclaimed  the  count,  "it  seems  that  I  am 
always  destined  to  act  contrary  to  good  sense ;  I  ought  to 
hate  you  with  all  my  soul,  and  I  feel  that  I  love  you  with 
all  my  heart." 

"You  have  made  the  history  of  my  sentiments,"  replied 
Belle-Rose. 

"Now  that  I  have  paid  upon  the  Pontoise  road  the  bill 
of  exchange  which  you  drew  upon  me  in  a  street  in  Dover, 
speak  to  me  of  your  affairs. ' ' 

Cornelius  related  to  Monsieur  de  Pomereux  what  had 
been  resolved  upon. 

"We  are  to  get  married  in  the  abbey  chapel,"  he  added; 
"but,  considering  the  situation  of  things  around  the  mon- 
astery, we  could  just  as  easily  get  married  in  great  pomp 
in  the  parochial  church  of  Pontoise." 

"What!  not  an  archer  in  the  neighborhood?"  said  the 
count. 

"Not  one;  besides,  you  ought  to  have  been  able  to  con- 
vince yourself  of  it  while  coming  here.  Have  you  met  a 
single  member  of  the  police?" 

'Not  a  single  one,  and  that  is  what  worries  me." 
'Would  you  have  preferred  to  see  fifty  of  them?" 
'Perhaps,  yes." 
'This  is  pleasant." 

'Eh!  pardieu!  when  Monsieur  de  Charny  acts,  one  at 
least  knows  what  he  is  doing ;  but  when  he  keeps  still, 
Lucifer  himself  cannot  divine  what  he  meditates.  If  there 
are  no  alguazils  around  the  abbey,  it  means  that  there  is  a 
crowd  of  spies  a  quarter  of  a  league  away. " 


298  A  NEST  IN  A  CONVENT. 

The  justness  of  this  observation  struck  Cornelius  and 
Belle-Rose. 

"Hold,"  added  Monsieur  de  Pomereux,  "happiness  lulls 
you.  You  know  Monsieur  de  Charny,  and  you  have  seen 
him  at  work.  Form  your  conclusions." 

"Thanks,"  said  Belle-Rose,  pressing  the  count's  hand; 
"therefore  you  advise  us  to  be  on  our  guard. " 

"More  than  ever;  I  do  not  know  where  the  peril  lies, 
but  it  is  somewhere.  When  Monsieur  de  Charny  does  not 
bark,  'tis  because  he  is  making  ready  to  bite." 

Deroute  was  warned. 

"Good!"  said  he,  "I  still  have  some  powder  and  lead." 

Thereupon  he  began  to  load  his  muskets  and  pistols. 

The  Bishop  of  Mantes  arrived  the  next  day.  The  altar 
was  decorated  with  flowers.  Claudine,  red  as  a  strawberry, 
knelt  down  near  Cornelius,  not  far  from  Belle-Rose  and 
Suzanne.  Genevieve  was  seated  in  the  choir  with  the 
other  witnesses,  who  were  Monsieur  de  Pomereux,  De- 
route,  and  Grippard.  The  abbess  had  assumed  the  insignia 
of  her  religious  rank  and  taken  off  her  vail.  When  the 
ceremony  was  over  the  abbess  signed  first  upon  the  parish 
register.  Suzanne  threw  herself  into  her  arms. 

"I  owe  my  happiness  to  you,"  she  said  to  her,  "how 
shall  I  ever  repay  you?" 

"Love  me,"  replied  Genevieve,  "and  we  shall  be  quits." 

A  lodging  had  been  prepared  for  the  two  couples  in  a 
building  belonging  to  the  abbey,  but  separated  from  the 
main  building  by  vast  gardens.  The  sisters  never  passed  a 
certain  limit  which  the  superior  alone  had  the  right  to 
cross.  The  newly  married  couples  went  to  this  house, 
where  they  were  at  the  same  time  free  and  in  safety. 

"You  are  at  home  here,  and  you  will  stay  here  so  long 
as  it  pleases  you,"  Genevieve  said  to  them.  "Be  happy.  I 
withdraw. ' ' 

"Will  you  not  sometimes  come  to  visit  us  in  this  retreat 
which  we  owe  to  you?"  Suzanne  pleaded. 

"Yes,"  replied  Madame  de  Chateaufort,  kissing  heron 
the  forehead,  "I  will  return  at  times  to  breathe  in  the 
shade  of  your  happiness." 

Monsieur  de  Pomereux  was  walking  the  room ;  all  at 
once  his  eyes  fell  upon  a  box  placed  on  a  piece  of  furniture. 
He  picked  it  up,  and  seeing  the  name  upon  the  superscrip- 
tion, he  uttered  a  slight  cry.  Suzanne  turned  around,  and 
seeing  him  quite  pale,  ran  to  him. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you?"  said  she. 

"Who  has  given  you  this  box?"  he  replied. 


THE  CHEVALIER  D'ARRAINES.  299 

"Gabrielle  de  Mesle,  a  poor  girl  who  died  in  the  con- 
vent." 

"Gabrielle  is  dead?"  exclaimed  Monsieur  de  Pomereux, 
trembling. 

"Yes,"  replied  Suzanne,  "her  last  sigh  has  been  the 
name  written  upon  that  box." 

"The  Chevalier  d'Arraines!  she  still  loved  him,  then!" 

"Do  you  know  him?"  exclaimed  Suzanne. 

"I  am  he,  my  God!" 

As  he  said  this,  the  count  fell  upon  a  chair  and  concealed 
his  face  between  his  hands. 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

THE  CHEVALIER    D'ARRAINES. 

Grief  in  a  man  so  frivolous  in  appearance  as  Monsieur  de 
Pomereux  had  something  strange  and  sincere  about  it 
which  profoundly  touched  the  spectators.  All  were  silent. 
Suzanne  opened  the  little  box  and  drew  from  it  the  letter 
and  tress  of  hair  which  she  handed  to  the  count. 

"This,"  said  she,  "is  all  that  is  left  of  Gabrielle." 

Monsieur  de  Pomereux  took  the  letter  and  pressed  it  to 
his  lips  at  the  place  where  was  to  be  seen  the  handwriting 
of  the  dead  girl.  As  to  reading  what  she  had  written,  he 
could  not,  so  dimmed  were  his  eyes  by  tears.  Presently 
he  arose,  and  taking  one  of  Suzanne's  hands  and  extending 
the  other  to  Belle-Eose,  he  said  to  them : 

"I  am  accustomed  to  jest  and  I  weep  like  a  child ;  but 
before  you  it  seems  to  me  that  I  can  do  so. " 

"These  tears  make  us  esteem  you  more,"  Suzanne  said 
to  him.  "Kind  hearts  are  the  only  ones  that  suffer. " 

Monsieur  de  Pomereux  had  Suzanne  relate  the  details 
which  she  had  received  from  the  mouth  of  Gabrielle.  The 
death  of  this  poor  girl  agitated  him  profoundly. 

"She  was  so  young  and  so  good!  What  was  I  doing, 
great  God!  while  she  was  dying?"  said  he. 

And  he  again  burst  into  sobs. 

"Wretch  that  I  am!  How  comes  it  that  I  have  not 
divined  her  presence  at  the  convent?  I  would  have 
snatched  her  from  it." 

"She  would  not  have  permitted  it, "  said  Suzanne. 

"it  is  a  terrible  story !  Was  I  worthy  of  that  pure  heart? 
I  have  lived  in  a  strange  fashion,  and  nevertheless  I  have 


300  THE  CHEVALIER  D'ARRAINES. 

always  loved  her.  I  have  followed  many  miry  paths,  car- 
ried far  from  her  by  I  know  not  what  indomitable  passion, 
what  insatiable  desires ;  but  in  this  existence,  she  is  the 
only  thing  which  I  have  surrounded  with  love  and  re- 
spect. She  was  the  drop  of  dew  upon  the  arid  rock,  the 
perfumed  flower  among  the  thorns.  Poor  Gabrielle !  When 
I  met  her,  I  was  a  younger  son,  having  for  sole  fortune 
only  the  cloak  and  the  sword.  The  Chevalier  d'Arraines 
was  not  a  suitable  match  for  the  daughter  of  the  Marquis 
de  Mesle ;  I  loved  her,  and  I  told  her  so  without  knowing 
why.  Later  my  brother  died ;  heir  to  the  title  and  the 
name,  I  could  almost  aspire  to  her  hand ;  but  I  was  with- 
out news  of  her,  and  it  was  then  that  my  father  sent  me  to 
Malzonvilliers.  Since  that  visit,  my  days  have  flowed 
away  like  water;  nothing  is  left  to  me  except  a  little  foam 
on  the  surface.  Poor  Gabrielle !" 

Having  said  this,  he  walked  a  few  steps  and  then  re- 
turned to  Suzanne. 

"You  have  assisted  at  her  agony  and  consoled  her  suffer- 
ing,"  he  said  to  her.  "In  joy  and  in  misfortune,  come 
what  may,  by  the  sacred  name  of  Gabrielle,  I  am  your 
friend." 

This  scene  in  which  Monsieur  de  Pomereux  had  shown 
himself  in  an  entirely  new  light,  made  a  profound  impres- 
sion upon  the  young  people ;  they  separated  from  the  count 
with  deeply  touched  hearts. 

"It  is  a  happy  day,"  said  Suzanne;  "we  have  found 
again  one  friend  and  gained  another." 

At  some  hundred  steps  from  the  abbey  Monsieur  de 
Pomereux  encountered  a  man  who  was  walking  along  the 
road.  The  fellow  examined  him  very  attentively  as  he 
passed  by.  The  count,  who  did  not  love  curious  people, 
started  toward  him ;  but  the  rascal  threw  himself  into  a 
thicket,  where  he  was  soon  sheltered  from  all  pursuit." 

"This  proves  to  me  that  I  was  not  deceived, "  Monsieur 
de  Pomereux  said  to  himself.  "I  should  be  much  sur- 
prised if  this  man  was  not  in  the  service  of  Monsieur  de 
Charny." 

At  JEcouen,  Monsieur  de  Pomereux  remounted  the  car- 
riage which  had  brought  him  from  Chantilly,  and  took  the 
road  to  Paris,  giving  orders  to  the  postilion  to  go  to  Mon- 
sieur de  Louvois'.  He  had  an  idea  of  the  weicome  which 
awaited  him  at  the  minister's ;  but  the  young  count  was 
one  of  those  adventurous  minds  who  take  pleasure  in  vio- 
lent situations  and  find  a  great  charm  in  struggles  where 
life  is  imperiled.  As  soon  as  he  had  learned  of  the  arrival 


THE  CHEVALIER  D'ARRAINES.  301 

of  Monsieur  de  Pomereux,  Monsieur  de  Louvois  hastened 
to  have  him  shown  up.  The  count  did  not  at  first  see  the 
face  of  the  minister,  who  was  just  then  drinking  from  a 
large  jugful  of  water. 

"Diable!"  he  murmured,  "he  must  be  very  angry  to  be 
so  exceedingly  thirsty." 

"Ah!  ah!  my  handsome  cousin,  so  you  have  returned, 
have  you?"  said  the  minister  throwing,  when  he  had 
finished  drinking,  a  keen  and  swift  glance  at  the  Comte  de 
Pomereux. 

"Come!  I  was  not  deceived,"  thought  the  count,  who 
sustained  unflinchingly  the  threatening  glance  of  the  min- 
ister. Aloud  he  said : 

"In  faith,  yes,  monseigneur;  I  experienced  such  a  vio- 
lent annoyance  over  not  having  seen  you  recently,  that 
my  first  visit  at  Paris  has  been  to  see  you." 

"It  is  an  instance  of  great  zeal  for  which  I  thank  you, 
my  dear  count." 

"Not  at  all!  no  one  has  a  whole  family  of  cousins  like 
yourself,  and  when  perchance  one  possesses  one,  one  owes 
everything  to  him." 

"I  have  always  counted  upon  your  devotion;  it  appears 
even  that  this  devotion  has  passed  beyond  my  expecta- 
tion." 

"You  flatter  me." 

"Not  in  the  least;  I  am  informed  that  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  d'Ennery,  you  comported  yourself  like  a  chevalier 
of  the  age  of  chivalry.  You  have  eclipsed  the  glory  of 
Amidas,  and  the  illustrious  Galaor  himself  is  only  a 
coward  beside  you." 

"Ah !  monseigneur!  you  put  too  much  faith  in  the  narra- 
tive of  Monsieur  de  Charny." 

"It  is  true;  it  is  from  him  I  have  learned  of  your 
exploits." 

"Monsieur  de  Charny  is  an  excellent  friend!  I  was  quite 
sure  that  he  would  act  as  he  has  done." 

"Oh !  he  has  concealed  nothing  from  me.  Why  was  I  not 
there  to  applaud  your  prowess?" 

"Your  approbation  had  been  my  sweetest  reward,  mon- 
seigneur." 

The  game  pleased  Monsieur  de  Louvois,  who  amused 
himself  with  Monsieur  de  Pomereux  as  a  cat  does  with  a 
mouse ;  only  the  mouse  had  a  self-possession  which  aston- 
ished him  a  little. 

"My  admiration  has  begun,"  continued  the  minister, 
"at  the  furious  combat  which  you  sustained  against 


302  THE  CHEVALIER  ^'ARRAINES. 

Belle-Rose  and  the  terrible  Irishman.  I  have  deplored  the 
fatality  which  has  caused  your  sword  to  be  broken  at  the 
moment  when  victory  was  going  to  declare  itself  for  you. " 

"War  has  its  ups  and  downs!"  murmured  Monsieur  da 
Pomereux,  with  a  gesture  full  of  philosophy. 

"Three  seconds  after,  I  have  been  touched  even  to  tears 
at  the  narrative  told  me " 

"Still  Monsieur  de  Charny  " 

"Quite  right — at  the  narrative  told  me,  I  say,  of  your 
constancy  in  keeping  your  sworn  word.  It  is  beautiful,  it 
is  grand,  it  is  antique!  Regulus  would  not  have  con- 
ducted himself  better,  and  I  imagine  that  the  shade  of 
Aristides  ought  to  be  jealous  of  you.  It  is  a  sublime  trait, 
my  cousin." 

"You  overwhelm  me,  monseigneur, "  replied  the  count, 
with  a  modest  air. 

"No,  I  do  you  justice." 

"My  God!  monseigneur,  I  have  recollected  our  relation- 
ship." 

"That  is  what  I  have  thought.  For  example,  I  have 
blessed  Providence  who  took  care  that  your  sword  did  not 
break  this  time." 

"The  reason  was  that  fortune  owed  me  a  revenge." 

"Well,  would  you  believe,  my  charming  cousin,  that  this 
heroic  conduct  has  not  produced  upon  others  the  effect 
which  it  has  produced  on  me." 

"In  truth?" 

"There  are  ill-formed  minds  which  have  wished  to  see 
in  these  marvelous  adventures  a  determined  effort  to  cross 
the  authority  of  the  king." 

"You  don't  say  so!" 

"And  they  have  even  gone  so  far  as  to  assert  that  you 
were  no  longer  worthy  of  His  Majesty's  favor,  and  that  I 
ought  to  withdraw  my  protection  from  you." 

"As  to  that  I  am  tranquil." 

"How  well  you  know  me!"  exclaimed  Monsieur  de  Lou- 
vois,  bathing  his  lips  in  the  jug  of  water;  "I  have  repulsed 
these  persons  in  a  furious  manner;  but  one  of  them,  who 
is  a  friend  of  Monsieur  Colbert,  has  observed  to  me  that  it 
was  not  under  such  circumstances  a  suitable  thing  to 
charge  you  with  a  very  delicate  mission  which  I  had  re- 
served for  you." 

"And  through  respect  for  circumstances,  you  have  con- 
fided the  mission  to  another." 

"Should  I  have  allowed  myself  to  be  accused  of  an 
odious  partiality?" 


THE  CHEVALIER  D'ARRAINES.  303 

"No." 

"Another  person  has  remarked  that  the  king  would  not 
be  charmed  to  see  at  the  head  of  his  regiment  an  officer 
whose  co-operation  had  compromised  the  success  of  an 
enterprise  in  which  it  was  important  to  succeed.  The 
king  is  somewhat  like  Monsieur  Mazarin ;  he  likes  lucky 
people. ' ' 

"So  I  have  lost  the  regiment  after  having  lost  the  mis- 
sion." 

"Alas!  yes;  I  was  much  afflicted  at  the  turn  which  the 
conversation  took  when  a  last  blow  came  to  crush  me." 

"Ah!  there  is  a  last  blow?" 

"A  horrible  blow!  After  having  despoiled  you,  these 
people  have  affirmed  that  it  was  necessary  to  arrest  you. 
There  are  fastidious  persons  who  do  not  believe  in  broken 
swords  and  in  engagements  of  honor." 

"Incredulity  is  a  Parisian  vice,  monseigneur." 

"You  understand  that  I  have  made  answer  to  all  these 
people ;  unhappily  they  have  returned  to  the  charge,  and 
to  prevent  their  imagining  that  my  relationship  rendered 
me  unjust " 

"You  have  given  way?" 

"Quite  right,  my  cousin." 

"And  so  I  am  going  to  be  arrested!" 

"It  is  to  the  Bastile  that  you  will  be  sent,  and  I  will 
then  give  you  sufficient  leisure  to  prepare  your  defense 
for  confounding  the  caluminators." 

"It  is  a  project  which  amuses  me;  the  only  thing  that 
vexes  me  is  that  I  cannot  execute  it, "  replied  Monsieur  de 
Pomereux,  with  a  thoroughly  afflicted  air. 

"And  why,  then,  if  you  please?" 

"Because  I  shall  not  go  to  the  Bastile." 

"You  will  not  go  to  the  Bastile!"  exclaimed  the  min- 
ister, rising. 

"My  God,  no!" 

"This  is  pleasant!" 

"No,  it  is  quite  serious." 

"And  if  I  order  you  to  do  so?" 

"Then  I  am  sure  that  the  Prince  de  Conde  will  forbid 
me  doing  so." 

"The  Prince  de  Conde!"  repeated  Monsieur  de  Louvois, 
thoroughly  astounded. 

"Himself!" 

"And  what  has  he  to  do  with  this  affair?" 

"Par bleu!  am  I  not  an  officer  of  his  household?" 

"Youl" 


304  THE  CHEVALIER  D'ARRAINES. 

"Certainly.  But,  in  fact,  you  do  not  know  the  half  of 
what  has  taken  place.  Monsieur  de  Charny's  narrative 
lacks  a  denouement.  It  is  quite  a  story,  monseigneur!" 

The  coolness  of  Monsieur  de  Pomereux  stupefied  Mon- 
sieur de  Louvois ;  he  swallowed  a  glass  of  water  and  came 
near  breaking  the  goblet  as  he  set  it  back  on  the  table. 

"Do  you  wish  me  to  relate  it  to  you?"  continued  the 
young  gentleman. 

"Relate,  but  make  haste,"  replied  Monsieur  de  Louvois, 
striking  the  floor  with  his  shoe-heel. 

"Oh!  it  will  not  take  long!  Figure  to  yourself,  then, 
that  after  having  quitted  Monsieur  de  Charny  at  Pontoise, 
I  have  gone  to  the  Prince  de  Conde's  at  Chantilly.  The 
prince  has  always  been  kind  to  my  family ;  we  have  a 
thousand  proofs  of  it  which  I  could  cite. " 

"Pass  over  them." 

"So  be  it ;  this  narrative  would  wound  my  modesty.  I 
had  expressed  to  him  my  desire  to  enter  his  household ;  it 
so  happened  that  a  post  of  captain  of  the  hunts  was 
vacant ;  he  has  offered  it  to  me,  I  have  accepted  it,  and 
yesterday  morning  I  entered  on  my  functions." 

Monsieur  de  Louvois  was  walking  the  room,  his  eyes 
aflame  and  his  brows  contracted. 

"This  morning,"  Monsieur  de  Pomereux  tranquilly  con- 
tinued, "the  Prince  de  Conde  has  sent  me  to  Paris  to  ter- 
minate certain  affairs  which  particularly  concern  him. 
You  understand  that  if  I  accept  your  offer  of  going  to  the 
Bastile,  with  the  object  of  justifying  myself,  the  affairs 
of  the  prince  will  suffer  from  it.  Now,  my  interests  ought 
to  be  secondary,  I  believe,  to  his.  The  Prince  de  Conde  is 
a  prince  of  the  blood,  monseigneur." 

Monsieur  de  Louvois  walked  the  room  like  a  wild 
beast;  anger  swelled  his  bosom.  All  at  once,  the  idea 
struck  him  that  Monsieur  de  Pomereux,  whose  audacity 
he  knew,  sought  to  deceive  him  in  order  to  gain  time. 

"Your  history  is  a  tale,  my  honest  cousin!"  he  ex- 
claimed, covering  him  with  his  sparkling  glance. 

"Ah!  you  think  so,"  said  Monsieur  de  Pomereux,  "well, 
look!" 

Monsieur  de  Pomereux  nonchalantly  took  Monsieur  de 
Louvois  by  the  arm,  and-  leading  him  to  one  of  the  win- 
dows of  the  apartment  which  gave  upon  the  court  of  the 
hotel,  he  pointed  out  to  him  with  the  finger  a  carriage 
which  was  waiting.  The  livery  was  the  color  of  that  of 
the  prince,  and  upon  the  panels  of  the  carriage  was  to  be 


THE  CHEVALIER  D'AERAINES.  305 

seen  the  azure  escutcheon  with  the  three  golden  fleurs  de 
lis,  with  the  bar  of  the  house  of  Conde. " 

"If  any  doubt  is  left  you,  I  can  dissipate  it,"  added  the 
count,  with  the  same  tranquillity. 

And  opening  the  window,  he  called,  in  a  loud  voice: 

"Hey!  1'Epine!" 

A  lackey  with  the  livery  of  the  prince  ran  under  the 
window,  hat  in  hand. 

"Lower  quickly  the  carriage  footstool,  and  tell  Bourg- 
nignon  to  tighten  the  reins;  we  are  going  to  leave." 

The  lackey  saluted  and  advanced  toward  the  coachman, 
who  immediately  picked  up  the  reins.  Monsieur  de  Pom- 
ereux shut  the  window  and  turned  to  the  minister. 

"You  have  seen,  monseigneur, "  said  he,  smiling. 

Monsieur  de  Louvois  was  pale  with  anger ;  great  though 
his  power  was,  he  could  not  yet  afford  to  attack  a  prince 
of  the  blood.  The  arrest  of  an  officer  of  the  Prince  de 
Conde's  household  was  one  of  those  things  whose  conse- 
quences might  be  incalculable.  The  princes  of  the  house 
of  Conde  were  extremely  jealous  of  their  privileges,  and 
they  were  capable  of  taking  the  affair  to  the  king.  Simple 
gentleman,  Monsieur  de  Pomereux  was  open  to  any  attack ; 
captain  of  the  hunts,  Monsieur  de  Pomereux  was  protected 
by  the  shield  with  the  three  golden  fleurs  de  lis. 

Fury  did  not  so  blind  Monsieur  de  Louvois  as  to  keep 
him  from  seeing  clear  their  respective  positions.  He 
understood  that  he  was  conquered  and  resigned  himself. 
Monsieur  de  Pomereux  waited  with  crossed  arms. 

"Go,"  the  minister  said  to  him. 

Just  as  the  count  was  retiring,  Monsieur  de  Louvois  de- 
tained him  by  the  arm. 

"You  are  with  Monsieur  de  Conde,"  he  said  to  him, 
"stay  with  him,  my  honest  cousin.  It  is  a  piece  of  advice 
which  I  give  you." 

"It  comes  from  you,  and  I  will  take  care  not  to  forget 
it." 

Monsieur  de  Pomereux  bowed  low  and  went  out. 

Since  the  marriage  of  Belle-Rose  and  Suzanne  the  soft 
shades  of  the  Abbey  of  St.  Claire  d'Ennery  had  seen  the 
most  beautiful  days  which  the  two  lovers  had  yet  lived. 
There  was  a  constant  succession  of  long  walks  in  the 
woods,  silent  reveries  on  the  banks  of  the  murmuring 
streams,  charming  conversations  at  evening  in  the  mead- 
ows. 

A  time  came,  however,  when  Belle-Rose  recollected  that 
he  had  a  duty  to  fulfill.  This  duty  he  resolved  to  perform 


306  OVEE  HILLS  AND  ACROSS  VALLEYS. 

•without  further  delay.  He  went  immediately  to  seek  out 
Deroute,  who  was  amusing  himself  by  making  citadels  of 
turf  with  his  friend  Grippard  and  to  afterward  take  them 
according  to  all  the  rules  of  military  strategy.  He  found 
him  in  a  corner  of  the  convent,  where  he  had  just  opened 
the  trench  before  a  bastion. 

"Hey!  Deroute!  the  Bishop  of  Mantes  arrives  to-morrow 
evening;  we  will  make  arrangements  to  leave  to-morrow 
evening,"  he  said  to  him. 

Deroute  overthrew  the  bastion  with  a  kick  of  his  foot 
and  threw  his  hat  in  the  air,  crying : 

"Viveleroi!" 


CHAPTER  XL VI. 

OVER  HILLS  AND  ACROSS  VALLEYS. 

Since  he  had  attached  himself  to  the  fortunes  of  Belle- 
Rose,  Deroute  had  contracted  a  taste  for  adventures.  The 
reader  need  not  be  astonished  then  if  the  captain's  proposi- 
tion delighted  him. 

"You  know,  Deroute,  that  to-morrow  is  the  day  on 
which  the  Bishop  of  Mantes  is  accustomed  to  come  each 
week  to  the  abbey?"  said  Belle-Rose. 

"Yes,  captain." 

"Monseigneur  is  ordinarily  accompanied  by  a  numerous 
following. ' ' 

"There  are  secretaries  in  surplices  and  grooms  in  high 
boots,  vicars  in  cassocks,  and  lackeys  in  livery,  the  former 
in  carriages  and  the  latter  behind. ' ' 

"So  that  when  all  this  crowd  goes  away,  no  one  thinks 
of  examining  people  closely." 

"It  would  be  a  difficult  task." 

"Well,  then,  I  must  be  one  of  those  who  leave  the  abbey 
to-morrow  evening  with  monseigiieur. " 

"And  with  the  livery  upon  the  back,  so  that  the  dress 
shall  assist  the  monk  to  pass." 

"Yes." 

"That  can  be  arranged." 

"Then  you  charge  yourself  with  it?" 

"Very  willingly.  There  is  in  the  suite  a  certain  coach- 
man who  likes  to  talk  war  and  battles  with  me.  I  will 
relate  to  him  ten  sieges  and  twenty  assaults ;  at  the  fourth 
skirmish  he  will  be  drunk ;  when  the  time  comes  to  blow 
up  the  mine  he  will  roll  under  the  table,  and  I  will  undress 
him  at  the  article  of  capitulation." 


OVEE  HILLS  AND  ACROSS  VALLEYS.  307 

"You  speak  of  it  as  if  it  was  already  done." 

"Eh!  diable,  this  man  has  two  vices,  and  I  know  them. 
He  is  mine!" 

"Do  you  know,  Deroute,  that  if  you  had  not  heen  ser- 
geant of  cannoneers,  you  would  perhaps  have  been  one  of 
the  wise  men  of  Greece?" 

"It  had  been  so  much  the  worse  for  wisdom ;  mine  some- 
times borders  close  on  folly." 

"Let  it  be  what  it  will,  provided  that  to-morrow  I  am  a 
coachman." 

"And  me  something  like  a  lackey  or  a  footman." 

"You?  no,  you  stay." 

"Ah,  bah!" 

"Must  Suzanne  not  have  a  friend  upon  whom  she  can 
count?" 

"There  is  the  Irishman." 

"Cornelius  is  married." 

"Precisely;  he  understands  household  affairs,  while  I 
have  never  been  able  to  speak  except  of  cannons  and 
horses. ' ' 

"All  the  same  one  alone  might  succeed  where  two  would 
fail;  you  shall  stay." 

"You  are  an  egotist  who  keeps  -ill  perils  for  yourself." 

The  next  day  the  Bishop  of  Mantes  reached  the  walls  of 
the  abbey ;  the  days  of  pastoral  visits  were  holidays  for 
the  whole  community ;  the  poor  of  the  neighboring  villages 
congregated  at  an  early  hour  around  the  doors,  where  alms 
were  distributed;  the  sick  had  themselves  transported 
along  the  route  followed  by  the  holy  man  who  blessed 
them ;  he  baptized  the  little  children,  confessed  the  nuns, 
and  all  the  notables  of  the  country  came  to  present  him 
their  compliments,  begging  him  to  appeal  for  the  benedic- 
tions of  heaven  upon  the  harvests  or  the  sowing,  according 
to  the  time.  The  multitude  which  incumbered  the  chapel 
of  the  abbey  and  all  the  environs  rendered  surveillance 
difficult.  For  whomsoever  had  wished  to  quit  the  convent, 
alone  and  mix  in  with  the  crowd,  there  was  little  risk  to 
run;  mixed  with  the  bishop's  followers,  there  was  still 
less.  Deroute  did  not  fail  to  attract  to  the  refugees'  lodging 
the  coachman  who  had  such  a  great  weakness  for  military 
histories.  , 

"There  is  inside,"  he  said  to  him,  "a  great  venison  pasty 
and  some  Orleans  wine  which  await  you ;  if  appetite  has 
come  to  you  in  the  open  air,  we  shall  breakfast  together, 
and,  while  demolishing  the  pasty,  I  will  relate  to  you  the 
siege  of  Arras,  by  Monsieur  Turenne." 


308  OVER  HILLS  AND  ACROSS  VALLEYS. 

The  coachman  confided  his  horses  to  the  first  valet  he 
met,  and  hastened  to  shut  himself  up  with  Deroute.  The 
pasty  was  uncovered,  the  bottles  uncorked,  and  the  narra- 
tive began.  While  Deroute  was  treating  the  coachman, 
Grippard,  who  had  his  instructions,  was  treating  a  groom. 
As  to  Belle-Rose,  he  was  writing  a  letter  to  Suzanne. 
Toward  evening  the  bishop's  conveyances  were  prepared 
for  departure ;  the  ecclesiastics  mounted  within,  and  the 
lackeys  held  themselves  ready.  At  this  moment  Deroute 
ran  to  seek  Belle-Eose. 

"Hey!  captain,"  he  said  to  him,  "the  trick  is  played; 
make  haste." 

Belle-Rose  entered  the  sergeant's  room.  The  coachman, 
all  undressed,  was  sleeping  like  a  log  upon  Deroute's  bed, 
who  was  laughing  with  all  his  heart.  The  clothes  were 
spread  out  upon  a  chair. 

"He  is  drunk  as  a  Swiss,"  said  the  sergeant,  "and  in 
order  that  the  fantasy  to  wake  should  not  take  him,  I  have 
mixed  an  effusion  of  poppy  in  my  Orleans  wine." 

Belle-Rose  dressecl  himself  quickly ;  the  coachman  was 
almost  of  his  size  and  blonde  like  him ;  he  pulled  the  hat 
down  over  his  eyes  anc?  descended  the  stair- way.  He  was 
being  called  when  he  appeared  in  the  court ;  he  took  his 
way  toward  the  bishop's  carriage  and  climbed  upon  the 
seat  as  if  he  had  done  nothing  else  than  this  all  his  life. 
As  Belle-Rose  left,  Grippard  entered  Deroute's  apartment. 

"It  is  finished,"  he  said  to  him. 

Deroute  thanked  him  and  disappeared.  The  bishop  had 
mounted  within  his  carriage,  Belle-Rose  touched  the  horses 
with  the  whip,  and  the  team  started.  At  a  quarter  of  a 
league  from  the  abbey  Belle-Rose  remarked  upon  the  side 
of  the  road  some  ill-looking  persons  who  looked  curiously 
at  the  procession.  He  recalled  the  warnings  of  Monsieur 
de  Pomereux,  applied  a  cut  of  the  whip  to  his  horses,  and 
passed  without  being  disturbed ;  the  bishop's  livery  pro- 
tected him.  They  relayed  at  Meulan,  and  toward  midnight 
they  reached  Mantes.  The  first  person  whom  Belle-Rose 
perceived  in  the  court  of  the  episcopal  palace  was  Deroute 
descending  from,  a  horse  in  the  costume  of  a  groom. 

"It  is  still  you!"  he  exclaimed,  not  knowing  if  he  ought 
to  laugh  or  scold. 

"Still  me.  When  I  saw  you  leave,  my  legs  refused  to 
stay  there ;  they  have  entered  all  alone  into  great  boots 
which  were  close  by ;  my  arms,  on  their  part,  have  stuffed 
themselves  into  the  stable-coat  of  a  groom  who  was  sleep- 
ing in  the  fashion  of  the  coachman  whom  you  know ;  I 


OVER  HILLS  AND  ACROSS  VALLEYS.  309 

have  found  his  hat  upon  my  head  without  knowing  how 
it  came  there,  and  while  I  was  reflecting  on  this  meta- 
morphosis, my  feet  have  taken  the  direction  of  the  stable 
where  the  honest  fellow's  horse  was  quartered.  I  have  let 
them  alone,  so  that  in  a  moment  I  saw  myself  in  the  sad- 
dle ;  the  horse  has  left  all  alone ;  I  have  thought  that  it 
was  Providence  which  wished  it  thus,  and  this  is  how  I 
have  galloped  to  Mantes." 

In  proportion  as  Deroute's  narrative  advanced,  Belle- 
Rose's  anger,  which,  to  tell  the  truth,  was  not  very  great, 
disappeared. 

"And  the  groom?"  he  asked. 

"Oh!  he  sleeps  beside  the  coachman." 

Suzanne  had  found  Belle-Rose's  letter.  It  contained  only 
a  few  words.  Belle-Rose  informed  her  that  a  duty,  whose 
accomplishment  could  not  be  any  longer  delayed,  called 
him  some  ten  or  twelve  leagues  from  the  abbey. 

"Fear  nothing,"  he  said  to  her,  in  conclusion,  "I  run  no 
danger;  our  love  protects  me,  and  you  will  see  me  back  in 
three  or  four  days." 

Suzanne  communicated  this  letter  to  Cornelius,  who 
could  not  give  her  any  kind  of  explanation  as  to  the  motive 
for  this  absence.  Cornelius  only  regretted  that  he  had  not 
been  warned. 

"At  least,"  said  he,  "I  should  have  gone  with  him." 

An  hour  after,  they  perceived  Deroute's  absence. 

Suzanne  thanked  the  sergeant  in  the  depth  of  her  heart 
and  waited  patiently.  Belle-Rose  and  Deroute  abandoned 
the  episcopal  palace  during  the  night,  changed  clothing, 
procured  horses,  and  left  Mantes  at  daybreak. 

"Now  that  I  am  of  the  expedition,"  said  Deroute,  "you 
will  at  least  tell  me  where  we  are  going?" 

"We  are  going  to  a  neighborhood  which  is  three  or  four 
leagues  from  Rambouillet. " 

"How  do  you  name  this  neighborhood?" 

"Rochefort." 

"A  pretty  nook  of  ground  surrounded  by  woods  and 
meadows;  where  thore  are  no  trees  there  is  grass;  the 
chickens  there  are  excellent,  the  girls  not  ferocious,  and 
the  wine  not  too  bad." 

"You  know  Rochefort?" 

"I  have  gone  there  on  a  recruiting  expedition,  some  five 
or  six  years  ago. " 

"So  that  you  have  preserved  at  the  same  time  the  mem- 
ory of  the  heart  and  of  the  stomach. ' ' 

"What  recollections  shall  I  carry  away  this  time?" 


310  OVER  HILLS  AND  ACROSS  VALLEYS. 

"For  this  time,  my  poor  fellow,  you  will  scarcely  have 
the  leisure  to  continue  your  studies  upon  the  character  of 
the  Rochef ort  girls ;  you  will  eat  two  or  three  pullets  if 
you  wish,  hut  you  will  only  drink  enough  wine  to  keep 
you  in  good  health. ' ' 

"Eh!  eh!  this  has  to  me  the  air  of  an  expedition." 
"It  is  in  act  something  approaching  it ;  we  have  left 
two,  there  will  be  three  of  us  when  we  return. " 

"Ah!  diahle!"  said  Deroute,  fixing  upon  Belle-Rose  a 
curious  glance. 

"This  third  person  is  not,  just  now,  much  higher  than 
your  hoot. ' 
"A  child." 
"Quite  right." 

Deroute  had  a  question  at  the  end  of  his  lips,  but  he 
dared  not  ask  it ;  Belle-Rose  guessed  it  from  the  air  of  his 
face  and  smiled.  This  smile  gave  courage  to  Deroute,  who 
was  observing  him  from  the  corner  of  his  eye ;  he  opened 
his  mouth. 

"Say,  then,  my  captain,  this  little  fellow  has  to  me  the 
appearance  of  being  a  little  cannoneer. ' : 
"This  little  fellow  is  a  light-horseman." 
For  once    Deroute   was  nonplused;    he  scratched    his 
forehead  and  sought  in  his  mind  what  connection  there 
could  be  between  his  master  and  the  little  cavalier.     He 
would  have  sought  a  long  time  without  finding  anything, 
if  Belle-Rose  had  not  drawn  him  from  his  embarrassment. 
"My  comrade,"    said    he,    "this    light- horseman    is  a 
nephew  of  Monsieur  de  Naucrais. ' ' 

"A  nephew  of  the  colonel!"  exclaimed  Deroute,  leaping 
with  joy  in  his  saddle. 
"Exactly." 

"Well,   captain,  we  will  make  of   him  a  marshal  of 
France." 

"Certainly;  and  to  begin  with,  you  will  teach  him  how 
to  handle  arms. ' ' 

The  two  travelers  took  the  road  by  Septeuil  and  Mont- 
fort-1'Amaury;  it  was  at  the  same  time  the  shortest  and 
the  surest  way.  The  road  was  little  traveled,  and  it  was 
not  probable  that  Monsieur  de  Charny's  agents  had  spread 
in  that  direction.  They  slept  at  Rambouillet,  and  at  sun- 
rise the  following  morning  they  went  to  Rochefort.  At 
the  moment  of  starting  Deroute  absented  himself  some 
minutes;  when  he  returned  to  the  hostelry  Belle-Rose 
asked  him  the  cause  of  his  absence. 
"This  is  it,"  replied  the  sergeant;  "it  has  seemed  to  me 


OVEK  HILLS  AND  ACKOSS  VALLEYS.  311 

that  for  people  who  go  on  an  expedition  we  are  not  very 
well  armed,  you  with  a  switch  and  myself  with  a  hazel 
branch.  I  have  concluded  a  little  affair  just  now. " 

"What  affair?" 

"A  younger  son  who  is  going,  1  know  not  where,  has 
lost  this  very  night  all  his  ready  money  at  lansquenet ;  1 
have  offered  him  twenty  pistoles  for  his  outfit,  which  he 
has  turned  over  to  me  at  once,  and  here  it  is ;  it  contains  a 
sword  and  pistols;  as  to  myself,  1  have  taken  the  valet's 
old  clothes." 

Belle-Rose  slipped  the  sword  in  his  belt,  placed  the  pis- 
tols in  the  holsters,  and  they  entered  the  forest  of  Ivelines. 
In  an  hour  they  had  traversed  the  wood  of  la  Selle,  which 
borders  on  the  wood  of  Rochefort.  It  was  almost  ten 
o'clock  when  they  saw  the  first  houses  of  the  burg  scat- 
tered in  the  fields.  A  little  boy  was  loitering  along  a  hedge, 
gathering  wild  mulberries. 

"Hey!  my  friend!"  Belle-Rose  cried  to  him,  "indicate  to 
me,  if  you  please,  the  dwelling  of  old  Simon,  the  guard ; 
you  shall  have  a  pistole  for  your  trouble. " 

"Follow  me  and  keep  your  pistole, "  replied  the  child, 
turning  in  the  direction  of  Belle-Rose. 

It  was  a  beautiful  child,  proud  and  smiling;  his  eyes 
large  and  soft,  his  cheeks  fresh  and  embrowned  by  the 
sun,  his  mouth  red  like  a  cherry.  He  shook  his  head 
with  its  silken  curls,  and  took  a  path  through  the  meadows. 
From  time  to  time  the  little  fellow  turned  back  to  see  if 
the  two  strangers  were  following  him,  and  his  pearly  teeth 
were  seen  to  shine  in  a  smile.  After  a  quarter  of  an  hour's 
walk  through  the  fields,  they  reached  a  cottage  whose 
front  was  ornamented  with  honeysuckle,  which  formed  for 
it  a  gay  and  green  cuirass ;  the  swallows  had  their  nests  in 
the  window  corners,  and  the  gilliflowers,  mixed  with  bind- 
weed and  wall- wort,  flourished  on  the  edge  of  the  thatch 
roof.  There  were  some  willows  behind  the  cottage,  a  little 
meadow  in  front  of  which  two  or  three  cows  were  feeding, 
and  at  one  side  a  garden  filled  with  fruit  trees.  When 
they  reached  the  door  they  saw  the  old  guard  standing 
in  it. 

"Here,  father,"  said  the  child,  "are  two  strangers  who 
desire  to  speak  to  you. " 

The  guard  approached  and  saluted  Belle-Rose. 

"What  can  I  do  for  you,  my  gentleman?"  said  he. 

Belle-Rose  threw  his  horse's  bridle  to  Deroute,  and  asked 
Simon  to  follow  him  within  the  cottage. 

"The  affair  which  brings  me,"  he  replied,  "has  some 


312  OVEK  HILLS  AND  ACROSS  VALLEYS. 

importance ;  it  is  a  question  of  a  child  the  care  of  which  has 
been  confided  to  me. ' ' 

Simon  grew  pale  at  these  words  and  looked  fixedly  at 
Belle-Hose. 

"Who  sends  you?"  he  asked. 

"A  person  who  has  sole  authority  over  this  child,  the 
only  one  who  can  effectively  protect  him, ' '  and  drawing 
from  his  pocket  a  paper,  Belle-Rose  handed  it  to  the  guard. 

Simon  took  the  letter  and  tremblingly  opened  it.  It  was 
from  Madame  de  Chfiteaufort  and  prayed  the  old  guard  to 
obey  Belle-Rose  in  everything  to  whom  she  transmitted  all 
her  rights  over  the  child. 

"Order,  monsieur, "  said  the  guard,  who  found  it  diffi- 
cult to  speak. 

'Is  he  here?"  asked  Belle-Rose. 

'He  is  here." 

'Then  I  can  take  him  away  to-day?' 

'You  can." 

'Then  he  must  be  ready  to  leave  in  some  hours. " 

The  old  guard  hesitated,  the  words  died  upon  his  lips ;  he 
made  a  violent  effort  over  himself  and  opened  his  mouth. 

"In  carrying  away  the  child  you  carry  away  all  the  joy 
and  all  the  hope  of  this  house ;  I  have  grown  accustomed 
to  love  him,  and  now  that  I  no  longer  have  but  a  few  years 
to  live,  I  cannot  bend  myself  to  the  idea  of  losing  him. 
Shall  I  see  him  no  more?" 

Belle-Rose  took  the  guard's  hand  and  pressed  it. 

"You  will  see  him  always,  if  you  wish." 

"What  is  it  necessary  for  me  to  do?"  exclaimed  Simon. 

"I  shall  take  him  to  the  convent  of  St.  Claire  d'Ennery. " 

The  guard  trembled. 

"To  the  Abbey  of  St.  Claire!"  he  repeated.  "Well,  I  will 
follow  you  there,  and  I  will  find,  with  Madame  de  Chateau- 
fort's  aid,  a  cottage  like  this,  and  every  day  I  shall  see 
Gaston." 

"You  call  him  Gaston?"  exclaimed  Belle-Rose,  who 
recollected  Monsieur  d'Assonville. 

"It  is  the  duchess  who  has  wished  it.  A  gentleman's 
name,  in  faith,  and  one  which  he  carries  well.  Hey! 
Gaston!"  continued  the  guard,  opening  the  cottage  door, 
"come  this  way;  here  is  an  honest  soldier  who  is  going  to 
take  you  on  your  first  journey." 

The  beautiful  child  who  had  served  as  Belle-Rose's  guide 
entered. 

"After  my  first  journey,  you  will  do  well  to  take  me  on 
my  first  campaign, ' '  said  he. 


A  SPY.  313 

CHAPTER  XL VII. 

A    SPY. 

Before  returning  to  St.  Claire  d'Ennery,  Belle-Rose  had 
to  go  to  Paris,  where  he  had  left  the  papers  which  the 
Duchess  de  Chateauf  ort  had  confided  to  him,  and  which 
stated  Gaston's  position.  Belle-Rose  had  confided  them  to 
Monsieur  Meriset,  who  had  hastened  to  secure  them  in  a 
secret  closet  where  he  concealed  his  money.  These  papers 
were  sealed  with  the  duchess'  arms.  Monsieur  Meriset 
never  saw  them  without  thinking  of  the  numerous  adven- 
tures of  Belle-Rose,  and  he  drew  from  them,  as  usual,  the 
conclusion  that  Belle-Rose  was  certainly  one  of  the  most 
considerable  personages  in  the  country. 

'•'When  he  becomes  prime  minister,"  said  he,  by  way  of 
peroration,  "I  will  ask  of  him  a  place  as  concierge  in  a 
royal  chateau." 

The  frank  and  open  air  of  Belle-Rose  had  charmed  the 
little  Gaston,  who  had  at  once  conceived  a  great  friendship 
for  him.  Gaston  wished  to  mount  a  horse  for  going  to 
Paris ;  the  idea  of  traveling  like  a  soldier  gave  him  an  ex- 
treme pleasure ;  Belle-Rose  hesitated  to  gratify  him,  fear- 
ing for  him  the  fatigues  of  the  road ;  but  Deroute,  who 
desired  to  gain  the  good  will  of  the  little  fellow,  overcame 
all  objections ;  while  they  were  still  arguing,  he  found  in 
the  neighborhood  a  small  horse  upon  which  he  placed  Gas- 
ton,  whip  in  hand.  The  old  guard  embraced  his  dear  child 
and  swore  to  Belle-Rose  that  he  would  reach  St.  Claire 
d'Ennery  before  him,  and  the  cavalcade  took  the  road  to 
Paris  by  way  of  Chevreuse  and  Sceaux.  It  was  near  mid- 
night when  Belle-Rose  entered  the  great  city ;  there  was 
no  one  in  the  streets  unless  it  was  some  gallant  here  and 
there  going  to  his  mistress'  lodging;  occasionally  some 
lights  were  seen  shining  behind  the  blinds,  but  noises 
were  rare  and  the  lights  discreet.  It  was  the  hour  of 
Venus. 

"The  moment  is  propitious,"  said  Belle-Rose  to  Deroute, 
"I  can  without  risk  knock  at  our  friend  Monsieur  Meriset 's. 
No  one  believes  that  I  am  at  Paris,  and  if,  perchance,  my 
presence  should  be  suspected,  it  is  not  at  this  hour  that 
they  would  come  to  seek  me." 

"And  besides,  should  some  one  meet  you,  how  could 


314  A  SPY. 

they  recognize  you,  in  company  with  this  little  fellow? 
This  child  is  our  providence. ' ' 

But  providence  slept  with  all  his  heart.  Deroute  had 
seated  him  before  him  and  was  sustaining  him  between  his 
arms.  When  they  were  near  the  Barriere  du  Maine,  Belle- 
Rose  got  down  off  his  horse. 

"You  are  going  to  the  Rue  du  Roi-de-Sicile,  to  Monsieur 
de  Pomereux's, "  said  he  to  the  sergeant ;  "whatever  hap- 
pens, you  will  be  in  safety  there. " 
'And  you?" 

'I  am  going  to  the  honest  Monsieur  Meriset's." 
'Alone?" 

'No,  with  my  sword." 
'On  foot?" 

'Certainly!  the  shoes  of  a  horse  are  indiscreet ;  they 
will  tell  the  whole  quarter  whence  I  come  and  whither  I 
am  going." 

Deroute  looked  turn  by  turn  at  the  captain  and  the  child. 

"Supposing  we  all  three  go  there,"  he  finally  said. 

"My  honest  sergeant,"  replied  Belle-Rose,  "that  would 
be  to  expose  the  little  fellow  without  any  profit  to  us. " 

He  threw  his  horse's  bridle  to  Deroute,  and  while  the 
one  was  taking  his  way  to  the  Rue  du  Roi-de-Sicile  by  way 
of  the  Rue  St.  Jacques,  the  other  took  the  direction  of  the 
Rue  du  Pot-de-Fer  St.  Sulpice.  The  night  was  dark;  a 
great  wind  was  blowing  which  chased  the  huge  clouds 
across  the  sky ;  the  weather-cocks  were  creaking  upon  the 
roofs,  and  the  ill-adjusted  planks  of  the  old  doors  creaked 
upon  their  trembling  hinges.  At  times  immovable  stars 
were  seen  to  sparkle  between  the  rents  in  the  clouds. 
Belle-Rose  drew  his  cloak  around  his  shoulders,  saw  to  it 
that  his  sword  and  poniard  played  freely  in  their  scab- 
bards, and  plunged  into  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain.  He 
reached  the  Rue  du  Pot-de-Fer  St.  Sulpice  by  way  of  the 
Rue  de  Vangirard.  As  he  turned  the  corner  of  the  street, 
he  saw  a  man  concealed  under  a  porch,  and  sleeping  with 
his  cloak  rolled  around  him  and  his  hat  drawn  down  over 
his  eyes.  Belle-Rose  thought  that  it  was  a  lackey  who  had 
fallen  there  on  leaving  some  cabaret,  and  he  passed  on. 
The  house  of  the  honest  Monsieur  Meriset  seemed,  at  this 
advanced  hour  of  the  night,  the  most  silent  of  all  the 
silent  houses  of  the  quarter ;  the  shutters  were  well  closed, 
and  not  a  ray  of  light  came  through  their  interstices. 
Belle-Rose  raised  the  knocker  and  struck.  At  the  third 
stroke  the  shutter  of  a  window  fashioned  above  the  door 
slowly  opened,  and  the  patriarchal  head  of  Monsieur 


A  SPY.  315 

Meriset  was  seen  leaning  forward,  protecting  with  his 
hand  the  flame  of  a  caudle. 

"Who  goes  there?"  said  he,  in  a  somewhat  disturbed 
voice. 

"Descend  quickly!"  murmured  Belle-Rose,  "I  will  tell 
you  when  you  are  closer. ' ' 

On  hearing  this  well-known  voice,  Monsieur  Meriset 
hastily  closed  the  shutter,  and  ran  to  the  stair-way.  But 
at  the  same  time  that  he  was  a  thoroughly  devoted  man, 
Monsieur  Meriset  was  a  very  prudent  proprietor.  Not 
being  quite  sure  of  the  acuteness  of  his  hearing,  and  wish- 
ing to  avoid  any  disagreeable  surprise,  he  opened  a  peep- 
hole cut  in  the  door  and  looked  at  his  interlocutor.  Belle- 
Rose  was  also  being  looked  at  by  a  third  personage,  whose 
presence  he  did  not  suspect  in  this  part  of  the  Rue  du 
Pot-de-Fer.  This  personage  was  no  other  than  the  lackey 
whom  he  had  seen  sleeping  under  a  porch.  At  the  first 
stroke  of  the  knocker  the  sleeper  opened  his  eyes ;  at  the 
second,  he  straightened  himself  up  to  learn  whence  the 
noise  came;  at  the  third,  he  walked  in  the  direction  of 
Monsieur  Meriset's  house,  from  the  manner  in  which  he 
set  his  feet  upon  the  ground,  keeping  close  to  the  wall,  it 
was  evident  that  the  pretended  lackey  had  some  interest 
not  to  be  perceived.  The  end  of  a  long  rapier  protruded 
from  his  cloak,  and  at  the  moment  when  he  had  risen,  a 
pair  of  pistols  had  shone  in  company  with  a  poniard  in  his 
leathern  belt.  From  door  to  door,  this  rascal  gained  an 
obscure  corner  from  which  it  was  easy  for  him  to  see 
without  being  seen.  When  the  light  fell  full  upon  the 
nocturnal  visitor,  the  spy  leaned  forward  and  examined 
him  curiously.  But  Belle-Rose  turned  his  back  to  him,  and 
he  could  only  distinguish  the  outlines  of  his  form. 

"Is  it  indeed  you?"  asked  the  suspicious  proprietor. 

"Look  quickly  and  open  quickly, "  Belle-Rose  answered 
him,  uncovering  his  face. 

Monsieur  Meriset  smiled  and  drew  the  bolts.  The  spy 
had  heard  nothing,  these  words  having  been  pronounced 
quite  low;  but  the  smile  and  action  of  Monsieur  Meriset 
did  not  escape  him.  He  very  wisely  concluded  from  it  that 
the  visitor  was  one  of  the  frequenters  of  the  house,  and 
that  he  must  have  some  urgent  affair  to  arrive  at  this 
hour.  The  door  half  opened  and  Belle-Rose  passed  through 
it ;  but  in  shutting  it,  he  turned  toward  the  street,  and  the 
light  which  Monsieur  Meriset  held  in  his  hand  suddenly 
lit  up  the  face  of  Belle-Rose,  whose  cloak  had  not  been 


316  A  SPY. 

drawn  up  around  him  again.  It  was  like  an  apparition ; 
but  the  spy,  who  had  seen  all,  trembled  in  his  corner. 

"It  is  he!"  he  murmured. 

The  door  was  closed,  and  he  rushed  into  the  street.  In 
three  bounds  he  had  reached  the  cornar  of  the  Rue  du 
Vieux-Colombier,  and  looked  around  him ;  the  street  was 
black  and  silent.  No  other  noise  was  to  be  heard  there  ex- 
cept the  moaning  of  the  wind  as  it  whistled  between  the 
chimneys.  The  spy  drew  a  whistle  from  his  pocket  and 
blew  softly  a  first  time,  then  a  little  stronger  a  second, 
then  finally  very  strong  a  third,  putting  a  minute  or  two's 
interval  between  each  whistle.  No  one  answered  this  ap- 
peal. The  spy  stamped  his  foot. 

"The  scoundrel,"  said  he,  "must  have  gone  and  got 
drunk  in  some  cabaret !  Unless  he  has  gone  to  sleep  in 
some  corner,"  he  added. 

The  spy  searched  in  every  direction ;  he  did  not  find  any 
one.  He  returned  to  the  corner  of  the  Rue  du  Pot-de-Fer, 
and  moved  about  hesitatingly  for  some  minutes;  some- 
times he  made  thirty  steps  running  in  the  direction  of  the 
Rue  du  Vieux-Colombier,  sometimes  he  turned  back  in 
haste  toward  the  house  of  Monsieur  Meriset.  His  irreso- 
lute mind  delivered  itself  up  to  an  inward  soliloquy. 

"If  I  go  to  seek  assistance,"  thought  he,  "for  investing 
the  house  and  seizing  Belle-Rose,  he  may  disappear  during 
my  absence.  But  if  I  remain,  it  is  clear  that  I  alone,  agile 
and  strong  as  he  is,  will  never  succeed  in  getting  posses- 
sion of  his  person.  Why  the  devil  is  Robert  not  at  his 
post?" 

The  spy  again  took  up  his  instrument  and  whistled.  But 
Robert  did  not  make  his  appearance.  The  spy  put  the 
whistle  in  his  pocket,  fearing,  if  he  used  it  again,  to  attract 
Belle-Rose's  attention ;  and  decided  to  remain  on  the  watch 
in  the  somber  corner  which  he  had  quitted  at  the  moment 
of  the  captain's  entrance  in  his  ancient  lodging. 

"When  he  leaves,"  he  said  to  himself,  "if  no  one  has 
come,  I  will  follow  him,  and  I  will  find  on  the  route  some 
of  our  men  who  can  aid  me  to  take  him  or  kill  him." 

The  spy  pressed  close  to  the  wall  and  remained  com- 
pletely immovable.  Meanwhile  Belle-Rose  had  followed 
Monsieur  Meriset  into  the  room  where  he  had  slept  so 
often. 

"I  have  not  a  long  time  to  stay  with  you, "  he  said  to 
him,  "as  I  am  only  going  through  Paris " 

"What!  not  even  to-night?"  exclaimed  the  honest  pro- 
prietor, whose  weakness  for  Belle-Rose  we  know. 


A  SPY.  317 

"Not  even  an  hour;  I  only  come  to  withdraw  from  your 
hands  certain  papers  which  I  confided  to  you  some  time 
ago." 

"They  are  in  my  room  near  here. " 

"You  are  going,  then,  if  you  please,  to  get  them  and 
bring  them  to  me." 

"  At  least, "  said  Monsieur  Meriset,  rising,  "you  will  do 
me  the  honor  to  accept  a  slice  of  pasty  and  drink  a  glass 
of  Burgundy  which  I  make  use  of  only  on  great  occasions. " 

The  walk  and  the  open  air  had  given  Belle-Rose  an  ap- 
petite ;  he  accepted  the  offer  of  Monsieur  Meriset,  who  ran 
to  seek  the  pasty,  the  bottle,  and  the  papers.  Belle-Rose 
slipped  the  papers  in  his  pocket,  made  a  breach  in  the 
pasty,  drank  a  glass  of  wine  and  cordially  embraced  the 
kind  old  man. 

"Now  I  leave,  my  dear  Monsieur  Meriset, "  he  said  to 
him. 

"For  a  long  time?" 

"I  do  not  know." 

"That  is  true;  when  one  has  so  many  affairs " 

"It  is  less  the  quantity  than  the  quality,  my  dear  host, 
and  mine  are  of  a  very  delicate  nature." 

Monsieur  Meriset  shook  his  head  with  a  grave  and  mys- 
terious air  and  took  the  flambeau  in  order  to  light  Belle- 
Rose  down  the  stair- way.  The  little  supper  to  which  the 
proprietor  had  invited  the  captain  had  delayed  Belle- 
Rose's  departure  by  an  hour.  The  rain  had  fallen  during 
the  repast,  and  the  shivering  spy  had  not  moved  from  the 
corner  where  he  had  concealed  himself. 

"If  I  contract  the  fever,1'  said  he,  pressing  the  handle  of 
his  poniard,  "he  will  have  to  pay  me  for  it." 

As  to  Robert,  he  had  not  been  seen.  At  last  the  door 
opened,  the  spy  held  his  breath,  and  Belle-Rose  came 
forth.  The  sky  began  to  brighten,  and  between  the  clouds 
were  to  be  seen  large  strips  of  a  deep  blue.  Belle-Rose 
entered  the  Rue  des  Cannettes  and  took  through  the  Rue 
du  Four  the  way  to  the  Carref  our  Buci ;  he  walked  rapidly 
and  brusquely  turned  the  street  corners. 

"This  man  is  not  worrying  about  an  exile  and  knows 
where  he  is  going,"  said  the  spy  to  himself. 

Belle-Rose  looked  before  him ;  the  spy  was  glancing  in 
all  directions,  seeking  a  comrade,  but  the  cabarets  were 
closed;  Paris  seemed  deserted.  Two  o'clock  had  just 
struck  at  the  Sorbonne.  At  the  corner  of  the  Rue  St. 
Andre-des-Arts,  they  met  some  robbers  about  to  force  a 
shop ;  a  little  farther  on,  in  the  Rue  Pav6e,  they  saw  a 


318  A  SPY. 

student  climbing  to  a  balcony  by  means  of  a  ladder.  Belle- 
Rose  had  no  time  to  disturb  the  thieves  or  the  lover ;  he 
passed  on.  The  spy  followed  him.  As  he  reached  the  quay, 
Belle-Rose  thought  he  heard  walking  a  hundred  steps  be- 
hind him;  he  turned  back  and  saw  nothing;  at  the  end  of 
the  Pont  St.  Michel  the  same  noise  was  renewed ;  this  time 
Belle-Rose  perceived  a  black  shadow  defiling  along  the 
parapet. 

"I  am  being  followed,"  thought  Belle-Rose. 

In  order  to  assure  himself  of  it,  instead  of  going 
through  the  Rue  de  la  Barillerie,  he  turned  the  corner  of 
the  Rue  de  la  Calandre  and  stopped  at  that  part  which 
borders  on  the  Rue  de  la  Juiverie.  Belle-Rose  placed  his 
hand  upon  the  guard  of  his  poniard,  half  opened  his  cloak 
so  as  to  be  ready  in  case  of  attack,  and  took  his  way 
toward  the  Pont  Notre-Dame.  The  spy  had  observed 
nothing,  but  in  passing  through  the  Rue  de  la  Lanterne, 
which  debouches  on  the  quay,  he  perceived  behind  the 
windows  of  an  ill-closed  cabaret  one  of  his  comrades 
drinking.  He  entered  and  struck  him  upon  the  shoulder. 

"Hey!  Gargonille, "  he  whispered  to  him,  "I  am  on  his 
track;  run  to  Monsieur  de  Charny's  and  awaken  him." 

"Our  man  is  at  Paris?"  exclaimed  Gargonille,  rising. 

"I  am  following  him;  from  the  road  he  takes,  I  do  not 
doubt  but  what  he  is  going  to  Monsieur  de  Pomereux's ; 
he  will  be  there  as  in  a  mouse-trap.  Run !" 

The  two  acolytes  followed  together  to  the  Pont  Notre- 
Dame,  at  the  end  of  which  one  took  to  the  left  and  the 
other  to  the  right.  Belle-Rose,  who  was  listening,  heard 
the  tramp  of  Gargonille  who  was  moving  away  through 
the  Rue  Planche-Mibray,  while  the  spy  was  advancing  in 
the  direction  of  the  Place  de  l'H6tel-de-Ville.  Belle-Rose, 
quite  sure  of  his  point  this  time,  came  to  an  immediate 
decision.  He  entered  with  a  more  rapid  step  into  the 
Rue  de  1'Epine,  threw  himself  into  the  Rue  de  la  Tixeran- 
derie  and  concealed  himself  in  the  shadow  of  a  door  which 
formed  the  corner  of  the  Rue  des  Coquilles.  In  spite  of  the 
light  shed  by  the  stars,  this  quarter,  one  of  the  mud- 
diest and  blackest  in  Paris,  was  somber  and  lugubrious. 
The  spy,  who  feared  to  lose  track  of  Belle-Rose,  hastened 
on  and  entered  the  Rue  de  la  Tixeranderie  at  the  moment 
when  Belle-Rose  stopped  at  the  corner  of  the  Rue  des 
Coquilles;  he  made  some  steps  forward,  but  no  longer 
hearing  footsteps,  stopped  himself.  Belle-Rose  waited  for 
him,  poniard  in  hand;  some  moments  passed  in  this 
reciprocal  immobility ;  but  the  captain,  who  did  not  know 


TO  CONQUER  OK  DIE.  319 

what  the  rascal  whom  the  spy  had  enlisted  on  the  way, 
had  gone  to  seek,  decided  to  act  first.  He  emerged  from 
his  hiding-place  and  walked  resolutely  toward  the  spy;  the 
spy,  who  was  upon  his  guard,  raised  a  pistol  which  he  had 
in  his  hand  and  pressed  the  trigger ;  but  the  rain  had 
moistened  the  powder  and  it  missed  fire.  Belle-Rose 
pounced  upon  the  spy,  who  only  had  time  to  arm  himself 
with  a  poniard.  The  struggle  was  short  and  decisive ;  en- 
dowed with  a  terrible  strength,  Belle-Rose  seized  the  spy 
and  plunged  his  poniard  up  to  the  guard  in  his  breast.  The 
man  fell,  uttering  a  cry  of  despair.  A  terrible  cry  answered 
this  cry.  Belle-Rose  listened  and  heard  in  the  direction  of 
the  Rue  des  Arcis  the  noise  of  a  troop  of  archers  who  were 
coming  up;  he  threw  aside  his  cloak  and  ran  toward  the 
Rue  du  Roi-de-Sicile  by  way  of  the  Rue  de  la  Verrerie. 

In  three  minutes  he  reached  Monsieur  de  Pomereux's 
hotel,  climbed  to  the  balcony,  split  the  blinds,  broke  the 
window,  and  bounded  into  the  apartment.  At  the  same 
moment  a  shot  was  fired  in  the  street ;  the  ball  struck  the 
sash  behind  Belle-Rose.  At  this  brusque  detonation,  Mon- 
sieur de  Poniereux,  who  was  talking  with  Deroute  before 
the  chimney,  seized  his  sword. 

"Belle-Rose!"  exclaimed  he,  at  sight  of  the  captain. 

Belle-Rose  threw  his  bloody  poniard  upon  the  carpet. 

"Monsieur  le  Comte, "  he  said  to  him,  "I  come  in  the 
name  of  Gabrielle  to  ask  you  for  hospitality." 


CHAPTER  XLVIII. 

TO    CONQUER    OR  DIE. 

Monsieur  de  Pomereux  divined  from  Belle-Rose's 
words  that  the  danger  was  great ;  coming  from  a  man  of 
courage,  they  indicated  the  certainty  of  an  imminent 
peril.  The  count  seized  the  captain's  hand  and  pressed  it. 

"You  have  pronounced  a  name  which  makes  you  in- 
violable," he  said  to  him. 

Deroute  had  thrown  himself  upon  the  balcony  and  was 
looking  into  the  street.  By  the  uncertain  light  of  the 
stars,  he  perceived  four  or  five  men  moving  about  and 
speaking  in  low  tones ;  he  listened  and  could  hear  some 
words  of  their  conversation. 

"It  is  here " 

"Parbleu!  he  has  climbed  along  the  wall  like  a  cat " 


320  TO  CONQUER  OB  DIE. 

"I  have  heard  the  fall  of  the  glass  which  he  has  broken 


"If  lie  had  staid  a  moment  longer  upon  the  balcony,  I 
•would  have  put  this  musket-ball  in  his  back ;  but  he  disap- 
peared just  as  my  finger  was  pressing  the  trigger." 

Another  ran  up  from  the  end  of  the  street. 

"And  Landry?"  some  one  asked  him. 

"He  is  dead,  and  I  have  left  him  in  the  gutter." 

"In  faith,  'tis  necessary  to  wait, "  said  one  who  appeared 
to  be  the  chief  of  the  band  and  who  held  a  naked  sword  in 
his  hand. 

Just  as  Gargonille  had  quitted  him  whom  they  called 
Landry  he  had  taken  his  course  toward  Monsieur  de  Lou- 
vois'  hotel.  At  the  corner  of  the  Rue  des  Lombards  he 
had  met  a  troop  of  soldiers  and  had  sent  them  to  the  Rue 
du  Roi-de-Sicile,  where  his  comrade  and  he  supposed  that 
Belle-Rose  would  go. 

The  police  reached  the  Rue  de  la  Tixeranderie  just  as 
Landry  fell  under  the  poniard  of  Belle-Rose;  at  the  cry  of 
the  wounded  man,  the  whole  troop  threw  itself  upon  the 
fugitive's  track;  Landry  made  a  desperate  effort  to  point 
to  them  with  a  gesture  the  direction  which  he  had  fol- 
lowed, but  Belle-Rose  was  a  hundred  steps  in  advance  of 
them,  and  the  reader  has  seen  how  he  entered  Monsieur  de 
Pomereux's  hotel. 

"Your  bandits  are  there?"  said  Deroute,  turning  toward 
the  captain. 

"The  street  belongs  to  everybody,  but  the  hotel  is 
mine,"  said  the  count,  proudly. 

"Let  me  take  my  pistols,  and  I  will  charge  all  this 
canaille,"  said  the  sergeant. 

"Sorties  are  not  made  before  the  siege  has  begun,"  said 
Monsieur  de  Pomereux,  smiling.  "Before  fighting  we  will 
parley." 

Deroute  shoved  his  pistols  bask  into  their  belt  and  re- 
turned to  the  window;  concealed  behind  the  blinds,  he 
could  see  everything  without  being  seen.  A  change  had 
taken  place  in  the  enemy's  maneuvers;  there  were  no 
longer  but  two  men  before  the  great  door;  the  others 
were  scattered  around  the  hotel,  watching  over  each 
issue. 

"The  place  is  invested,"  said  Deroute,  his  face  turned 
toward  the  count,  "must  we  open  fire?" 

"Eh!  no,  mordieu!  do  you  not  know  how  to  find  in  your 
mind  other  resources  than  battles?"  exclaimed  the  count. 

Belle-Rose  inquired  about  Gaston. 


TO  CONQUEE  OR  DIE.  321 

"Oh!"  said  Deroute,  "the  little  man  is  about  to  go  to 
sleep  for  twenty-four  hours  if  we  leave  him  alone." 

While  he  was  still  speaking,  the  precipitate  gallop  of  a 
horse  was  heard  in  the  street.  The  cat-like  eyes  of  Deroute 
had  at  once  recognized  the  rider. 

"Monsieur  de  Charny !"  he  murmured. 

"It  is  well,"  said  Monsieur  de  Pomereux;  "the  tiger 
after  the  wolves. ' ' 

Three  seconds  after  a  violent  blow  shook  the  door  of  the 
hotel ;  another  blow  immediately  followed  it. 

"Jean,"  said  the  count,  addressing  himself  to  one  of  his 
lackeys,  "take  a  flambeau,  open  the  door,  and  bring  to  me 
the  person  who  is  knocking. ' ' 

The  lackey  bowed  and  went  out. 

"What!"  exclaimed  Deroute,  "you  introduce  the  enemy 
into  the  place?" 

"As  you  see,  my  comrade,  and,  moreover,  I  place  the 
garrison  under  arrest." 

Deroute  looked  at  the  count  with  all  his  eyes. 

"Under  arrest,  did  you  say?" 

"There,  in  the  next  room,  where  you  are  going  along 
with  Belle-Rose,"  said  Monsieur  de  Pomereux. 

As  he  said  this,  he  opened  a  concealed  door  and  intro- 
duced the  captain  and  the  sergeant  into  a  little  room  where 
there  was  a  small  bed. 

"Dream,  meditate,  or  sleep  if  you  wish,"  he  added, 
turning  to  Deroute;  "but  above  all,  only  speak  in  case  you 
are  questioned." 

The  count  again  pressed  the  Land  of  Belle-Rose  and 
closed  the  door  upon  him.  Inside,  the  noise  of  steps  was 
heard  upon  the  stair-way. 

"Monsieur  de  Charny!"  cried  the  lackey,  stepping  back 
to  make  way  for  the  favorite. 

Monsieur  de  Pomereux  pointed  out  a  fauteuil  near  the 
chimney. 

"It  is  a  little  late  to  make  a  visit,  monsieur,"  said  he  to 
Monsieur  de  Charny;  "but  your  visits  are  so  rare  that  I  do 
not  disturb  myself  over  the  hour  which  you  choose. " 

"It  is  not  a  visit,  monsieur  le  comte,  it  is  an  affair  which 
brings  me,"  replied  Monsieur  de  Charny. 

"The  motive  matters  little,  your  presence  suffices  me 
and  you  are  welcome." 

"I  imagine,  monsieur,  that  you  know  the  grave  reason 
which  has  brought  me  to  your  hotel  at  such  an  advanced 
hour  of  the  night?" 

"My  God!  my  dear  Monsieur  de  Charny,  you  are  such  a 


322  TO  CONQUER  OR  DIE. 

deep  politician,  and  I  am  such  a  shallow  one,  that  it  would 
be  best  to  at  once  explain  your  reasons.  I  might  seek  three 
hours  and  find  nothing  after  all,  if  you  abandon  me  to  my 
unaided  meditations." 

Monsieur  de  Charny  understood  that  Monsieur  de  Pomer- 
eux  was  jesting,  but  he  restrained  himself. 

"Then,  monsieur,"  said  he,  "I  will  be  brief." 

"I  am  all  ears,  monsieur." 

"A  man  has  taken  refuge  in  your  house  to-night." 

"It  would  be  more  exact  to  say  that  one  of  my  friends 
has  paid  me  a  visit;  visits,  you  know,  are  made  at  all 
hours." 

"This  man  is  in  rebellion  against  the  laws  of  the  king- 
dom." 

"My  God!  laws  are  sometimes  so  complacent!" 

"He  has  rebelled  against  the  authority  of  the  minister 
who  represents  the  king. ' ' 

"What  pleases  me  in  you,  Monsieur  de  Charny,  is  that 
you  cannot  be  accused  of  flattering  royalty.  It  is  very 
beautiful  in  a  time  when  there  are  so  many  insincere 
people." 

"Just  now,"  continued  Monsieur  de  Charny,  who  was 
resolved  not  to  be  stopped  by  the  count's  epigrams,  "this 
man  has  killed  near  here  one  of  His  Majesty's  soldiers. " 

"Pardon,  my  dear  Monsieur  de  Charmy,  are  you  quite 
sure  that  he  was  a  soldier?  Are  soldiers  accustomed  to 
prowl  at  night  upon  the  heels  of  people  like  pickpockets? 
If  there  is  some  new  ordinance  on  this  subject,  I  feel  a 
curiosity  to  know  it." 

"After  this  assassination " 

"A  duel,  monsieur." 

"After  this  assassination, "  repeated  Monsieur  de  Charny, 
coldly,  "the  murderer  has  thrown  himself  into  your  hotel, 
where  you  have  welcomed  him." 

"In  faith,  my  dear  sir,  I  acknowledge  that  I  am  not  ac- 
customed to  put  out  at  the  door  those  who  come  to  see 
me." 

"This  man  is  here." 

"I  believe  even  that  he  intends  to  pass  the  night  here." 

"Now,  monsieur  le  comte,  I  come  to  arrest  this  criminal 
of  state,  and  you  will  deliver  him  to  me  at  once. ' ' 

As  he  said  this,  Monsieur  de  Charny  arose ;  Monsieur  de 
Pomereux  remained  upon  his  fauteuil. 

"Monsieur,"  said  he,  with  the  air  of  a  man  prof oundly 
astonished,  "there  is  in  all  this  a  grave  error,  and  I  insist 


TO  CONQUER  OB  DIE.  323 

on  explaining  it.  Have  you  the  leisure  to  give  me  three 
minutes?" 

Monsieur  de  Charny  looked  at  the  count,  not  divining 
what  his  intentions  were,  but  suspecting  a  snare  under 
these  words. 

"Speak,  monsieur,"  said  he. 

"Oh !  I  shall  be  brief  like  you — but  sit  down ;  I  am  much 
fatigued,  and  if  you  remain  standing,  you  will  oblige  me 
to  rise,  which  would  inconvenience  me  much." 

Monsieur  de  Charny  sat  down  again,  and  anger  began  to 
shine  in  his  eyes. 

"It  is  indeed  to  Monsieur  de  Charny  that  I  have  the 
honor  of  speaking?"  continued  Monsieur  de  Pomereux. 

Monsieur  de  Charny  leaped  in  his  chair. 

"Are  you  in  a  humor  to  jest,  monsieur?"  he  exclaimed. 

"No,  I  am  in  a  humor  to  talk,  if  you  permit  it." 

"What  signifies,  then,  this  question?" 

"It  signifies  that  Monsieur  de  Charny,  the  honorable 
Monsieur  de  Charny  whom  I  have  often  had  the  pleasure 
to  meet  at  Monsieur  de  Louvois',  being  neither  councilor 
in  Parliament,  nor  procure  at  the  Chatelet,  having  finally 
no  judiciary  charge,  has  no  mission  to  arrest  any  one." 

Monsieur  de  Charny  bit  his  lips. 

"Nevertheless,"  continued  Monsieur  de  Pomereux,  with 
the  same  sang-froid,  "if,  during  the  time  which  I  have 
been  deprived  of  your  company,  you  have  entered  the 
magistracy,  inform  me  of  it,  and  you  will  see  me  thor- 
oughly disposed  to  come  to  an  understanding  with  you." 

"Eh !  monsieur !  it  is  not  necessary  to  wear  the  gown  to 
have  the  right  to  arrest  a  scoundrel!"  exclaimed  Monsieur 
de  Charny. 

"This  scoundrel  is  one  of  my  friends,  monsieur,  and  if  I 
consent  to  deliver  him  up,  ought  I  not  to  do  it  only  to  the 
proper  authorities?" 

"Well,  do  I  not  belong  to  Monseiur  de  Louvois' house- 
hold?" 

"Certainly." 

"Have  I  not  all  his  confidence?" 

"So  they  say." 

"Has  he  not  charged  me  with  a  hundred  missions  more 
important  than  this  one?" 

"Certainly." 

"And  you  still  hesitate?" 

"Not  the  least  in  the  world." 

"At  last!"  exclaimed  Monsieur  de  Charny,  like  a  man 
relieved  of  a  great  weight. 


324  TO  CONQUER  OR  DIE. 

"When  one  is  on  such  good  terms  with  so  great  a  min- 
ister, one  has  always  upon  one's  person  a  little  order,  a 
sealed  letter,  some  light  trifle.  Exhibit  to  me  your  powers, 
and  everything  will  be  arranged  to  our  mutual  satisfac- 
tion." 

Monsieur  de  Charny  was  already  pale;  fury  rendered 
him  livid.  Monsieur  de  Pomereux,  who  fixed  upon  him  a 
piercing  look,  had  guessed  rightly ;  in  his  haste  to  follow 
Gargonille,  Monsieur  de  Charny  had  not  provided  himself 
with  any  paper  which  could  confer  on  him  an  official 
power. 

"I  am  waiting, "  said  the  count. 

Monsieur  de  Charny  rose  at  a  bound. 

"Then  you  refuse?"  exclaimed  he,  in  a  voice  trembling 
with  anger. 

"Have  I  said  anything  to  you  which  resembled  a  re- 
fusal?" replied  Monsieur  de  Pomereux,  without  quitting 
his  fauteuil. 

"Take  care,  monsieur  le  comte,  you  are  playing  a 
dangerous  game, "  said  Monsieur  de  Charny.  "Belle-Rose 
is  here,  quite  close  to  us,  perhaps;  he  is  a  criminal  of 
state ;  you  receive  him  and  conceal  him  in  your  house,  so 
that  you  are  ignorant  of  nothing  which  has  taken  place. 
In  an  hour  the  minister  will  know  all.  You  are  risking 
your  head,  monsieur." 

Scarcely  had  Monsieur  de  Charny  finished  these  words 
when  the  door  opened  violently  and  gave  passage  to  Belle- 
Rose.  Belle-Rose  had  heard  everything.  At  Monsieur  de 
Charny's  threat,  the  loyalty  of  his  character  had  revolted ; 
he  could  claim  Monsieur  de  Pomereux 's  aid  when  it  was  a 
question  of  a  child  to  return  to  its  mother,  but  he  ought 
not  to  expose  this  proud  gentleman  to  perils  when  his  head 
was  at  stake. 

"Thanks,  monsieur  le  comte,"  said  he,  pressing  the 
young  man's  hand,  "you  have  been  firm  and  loyal  to  the 
end;  you  have  done  your  duty,  I  will  do  mine." 

And  turning  to  Monsieur  de  Charny : 

"I  follow  you,  monsieur,  but  watch  well  over  me,  for  at 
the  first  step  outside  of  this  house,  I  shall  have  the  sword 
in  one  hand  and  the  pistol  in  the  other. ' ' 

Deroute  had  slipped  behind  the  captain,  his  two  hands 
upon  his  weapons,  ready  for  everything.  Monsieur  de 
Charny  smiled  with  an  air  of  triumph ;  he  picked  up  his 
hat,  saluted  Monsieur  de  Pomereux  and  took  his  way 
toward  the  door. 

"Come,  then,  monsieur,"  said  he  to  Belle -Rose. 


TO  CONQUER  OR  DIE.  325 

But  Monsieur  de  Pomereux  had  already  placed  himself 
between  Belle-Rose  and  Monsieur  de  Charny. 

"You  are  my  guest!"  he  exclaimed,  in  a  sonorous  voice; 
"if  a  hair  of  your  head  fell,  my  honor  would  be  lost.  Re- 
main. I  wish  it!" 

Monsieur  de  Pomereux 's  tone,  action,  and  look  caused 
Belle-Rose  to  hesitate  and  stop.  Monsieur  de  Charny 
bounded  toward  him  like  a  tiger. 

"Still  you?  take  care!"  he  exclaimed. 

The  count  covered  the  confidant  of  the  minister  with  his 
disdainful  glance. 

"Belle-Rose,"  added  he,  turning  toward  his  friend,  "you 
have  entered  my  home  safe  and  sound,  you  will  leave  it 
free  and  living." 

"But  your  head  is  in  peril!" 

"Do  you  prefer  my  honor  to  perish?" 

Anger  made  Monsieur  de  Charny  tremble. 

"Ah!  it  is  a  sealed  letter  which  you  want!"  said  he, 
"you  shall  have  two  of  them." 

Monsieur  de  Pomereux  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"If  you  had  drawn  an  order  from  your  pocket,  I  would 
have  blown  out  your  brains,  that  is  all,"  he  said  to 
him. 

"After  me,  there  is  Monsieur  de  Louvois, "  replied  the 
favorite. 

"After  me,  there  is  the  Prince  de  Conde,"  replied  Mon- 
sieur de  Pomereux. 

Monsieur  de  Charny  looked  around  him  like  a  wild 
beast;  his  eyes  rested  upon  the  balcony,  and  he  asked  him- 
self if  he  would  not  do  well  to  call  the  police  to  his  aid  to 
finish  everything  at  a  stroke.  Deroute  divined  his  thought 
from  the  expression  of  his  looks,  and  leaned  against  the 
window  writh  a  tranquil  air.  Monsieur  de  Charny  threw 
him  a  viper-like  glance  and  did  not  move.  There  was  a 
moment's  silence,  during  which  each  one  was  on  the  alert. 
Monsieur  de  Charny  did  not  wish  to  go  away,  fearing  that, 
during  his  absence,  Belle-Rose  might  escape  by  a  secret 
exit  of  the  hotel;  Monsieur  de  Pomereux  desired  on  his 
side  to  keep  Monsieur  de  Charny  in  his  power,  but  every- 
body understood  that  it  was  necessary  to  end  this  violent 
situation.  It  was  Monsieur  de  Pomereux  who  first  broke 
silence. 

"All  that  which  has  just  taken  place,"  said  he,  with  a 
perfect  ease,  "ought  to  prove  to  us  all  that  each  of  us  here 
has  a  firm  will.  You,  Monsieur  de  Charny,  wish  Belle-Rose 
dead  or  alive;  you,  Belle-Rose,  are  decided  to  fight  to  the 


326  TO  CONQUEK  OR  DIE. 

last  drop  of  your  blood ;  I  see  over  there  my  friend  De- 
route,  who  is  also  of  this  opinion." 

"Certainly,"  said  the  sergeant. 

"As  to  myself,"  continued  the  count,  "I  am  thoroughly 
resolved  to  not  suffer  Monsieur  de  Charny  to  assail  the 
liberty  of  my  guest." 

"If  I  uttered  a  cry,  my  men  would  invade  the  hotel, " 
said  the  confidant. 

"Do  so,  1  have  thirty  lackeys  armed  to  the  teeth,  and 
among  them  there  are  some  who  wear  the  livery  of  the 
Prince  de  Conde. ' ' 

"Monsieur  de  Charny  was  silent. 

"I  see,  monsieur,  that  you  are  convinced,  like  myself,  of 
the  inefficiency  of  that  means ;  let  us  seek  another,  then. 
An  idea  has  just  now  struck  me,  and  this  is  it. " 

All  eyes  were  turned  toward  Monsieur  de  Pomereux, 
who  spoke  as  if  he  had  been  at  the  corner  of  his  fire  after 
supper. 

"The  quarrel  is  between  Belle-Rose  and  Monsieur  de 
Charny,"  continued  he;  "each  of  them  has  his  sword;  let 
them  draw  it  and  fight.  Deroute  and  I  will  serve  as  wit- 
nesses." 

"And  what  will  be  the  result  of  this  duel  with  closed 
doors?"  asked  Monsieur  de  Charny,  while  Belle-Rose  was 
drawing  his  sword  from  the  scabbard. 

"Parbleu!  you  ask  me  a  pleasant  question,  my  dear 
Monsieur  de  Charny.  If  Belle-Rose  kills  you,  it  is  clear 
that  you  will  no  longer  prevent  him  from  going  where  it 
seems  good  to  him ;  if,  on  the  contrary,  you  kill  him,  it 
will  make  little  difference  after  should  you  take  him  to  the 
Bastile." 

"Very  well,  Monsieur  le  Comte;  but  if,  perchance,  I  re- 
fuse to  fight?" 

"Oh!  then  it  would  be  more  simple  still !  I  would  con- 
sider you  as  an  adventurer  who,  after  having  stationed  in 
the  street,  for  I  know  not  what  bad  purpose,  a  lot  of 
bandits,  has  introduced  himself,  under  a  miserable  pre- 
text, into  my  domicile,  in  order  to  carry  on  there  an 
abominable  espionage;  consequently,  I  would  have  you 
seized  by  one  of  my  men,  and  you  would  be  very  quickly 
bound." 

Monsieur  de  Charny  understood  from  the  count's  air 
that  he  was  not  jesting.  He  came,  then,  to  an  immediate 
decision,  like  a  man  who  has  some  courage  and  who  knows 
how  to  risk  his  life  when  it  is  necessary.  He  slowly  drew 
his  sword  and  put  himself  on  guard. 


TO  CONQUER  OR  DIE.  327 

"I  am  ready,"  said  he. 

"Go,  then,  messieurs,"  said  the  count. 

The  two  swords  were  immediately  crossed.  Monsieur 
de  Pomereux,  who  had  seen  Belle-Rose  put  to  the  test,  had 
no  fear  as  to  the  result  of  this  duel ;  tout  from  the  manner 
in  which  Monsieur  de  Charny  fought,  he  understood  that 
the  adversary  was  worthy  of  the  captain,  and  for  a  mo- 
ment he  regretted  having  brought  about  the  combat.  At 
the  first  attack  Belle-Rose  divined  the  strength  of  Mon- 
sieur de  Charny;  he  measured  his  thrusts,  feigned  to 
break,  and  when  his  adversary  fell  upon  him,  he  resumed 
fencing  with  such  violence  that  the  blade  flew  from  the 
hands  of  Monsieur  de  Charny.  Monsieur  de  Pomereux  was 
completely  reassured.  Deroute  picked  up  the  sword  and 
handed  it  to  Monsieur  de  Charny,  who  immediately  re- 
sumed guard,  and  the  duel  began  again.  This  time  Belle- 
Rose,  master  of  his  adversary's  play,  attacked  in  his  turn; 
just  as  Monsieur  de  Charny  essayed  a  parry  and  thrust, 
he  caught  his  sword  and  sent  it  up  to  the  ceiling.  Mon- 
sieur de  Charny  became  as  white  as  a  corpse.  He  rushed 
to  his  weapon,  grasped  it,  and  returned  to  the  charge  with 
an  incredible  fury.  Belle-Rose  parried  all  his  thrusts;  at 
last,  Monsieur  de  Charny  having  extended  his  sword  in  a 
feint,  Belle-Rose  so  resolutely  took  possession  of  it  that  it 
fell  at  ten  steps  from  them.  At  this  third  disarming,  Mon- 
sieur de  Charny  shivered  from  head  to  foot. 

"But  strike,  then!"  he  exclaimed,  drunk  with  anger. 

"People  do  not  kill  spies,"  answered  Belle-Rose. 

And  taking  Monsieur  de  Charny's  sword,  he  broke  it 
upon  his  knee.  Monsieur  de  Charny's  eyes  became  blood- 
shot, and  he  fell  upon  a  chair. 

"In  faith,  monsieur,  you  are  conquered, "  Monsieur  de 
Pomereux  said  to  him.  "Permit  me  to  act  as  if  you  were 
dead." 

The  count  rang  a  bell,  and  a  lackey  presented  himself. 

"Labrauche,"  he  said  to  him,  "run  to  the  stable,  and 
say  to  the  grooms  to  make  ready  the  carriage  and  harness 
the  horses;  we  leave  for  Chantilly." 

This  last  word  awoke  Monsieur  de  Charny  as  if  from  a 
dream. 

"You  leave  for  Chantilly?"  he  exclaimed,  rising. 

"In  faith,  yes." 

"Alone,  then,  I  imagine." 

"You  forget,  my  dear  Monsieur  de  Charny,  that  you  are 
not  in  condition  to  address  questions  to  me ;  but,  neverthe- 


328  TO  CONQUER  OR  DIE. 

less,  I  will  answer  you.  You  are  anxious  to  know  if  I  am 
going  to  Chantilly?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  favorite. 

"My  God!  how  much  alive  you  are,  then,  fora  man 
killed!  To  tell  the  truth,  I  do  not  like  to  travel  alone,  and, 
if  you  permit  it,  I  will  take  with  me  Belle-Rose  and  my 
friend  Deroute." 

"This  is  too  much,  and  I  will  not  suffer  it." 

Monsieur  de  Charny  rushed  toward  the  window,  but 
Monsieur  de  Pomereux  stopped  him  on  the  way. 

"Listen,  monsieur,"  he  said  to  him,  in  a  firm  voice,  "I 
am  master  here,  being  at  my  own  home.  You  have  come 
without  an  order  and  without  title  for  I  know  not  what 
mission  which  you  have  not  the  right  to  exercise.  Your 
bandits  have  fired  upon  my  house,  the  house  of  a  gentle- 
man. I  could  have  had  you  caned  by  my  people  and 
thrown  into  the  street,  but  I  have  not  done  it.  You  have 
fought,  you  have  been  conquered,  for  me  you  are  dead ; 
recollect  our  conditions.  If  now  you  say  a  word,  if  you 
cry  out,  if  you  call,  on  my  faith  as  a  gentleman,  I  will 
blow  our  your  brains." 

Monsieur  de  Pomereux  took  a  pistol  and  loaded  it.  He 
was  slightly  pale  and  no  longer  laughed.  There  was  a  mo- 
ment's terrible  silence.  Monsieur  de  Charny  did  not  fear 
death,  but  if  death  struck  him,  the  hope  of  vengeance  es- 
caped him.  He  looked  at  Monsieur  de  Pomereux  the  space 
of  a  second.  The  count's  face  expressed  a  cold  resolution, 
and  there  was  no  doubt  but  what  he  would  execute  his 
threat  at  the  first  cry.  Monsieur  de  Charny  was  silent  and 
sat  down. 

"Monsieur  le  comte's  carriage  is  ready!"  cried  La- 
brauche,  opening  the  door. 

Deroute  disappeared  for  a  moment  upon  a  sign  from 
Belle-Rose  and  came  back,  holding  in  his  arms  the  little 
Gaston  who  was  sleeping  peaceably. 

"Follow  me,  my  friends,  and  you,  monsieur,  go  in 
front,  "  added  he,  turning  to  Monsieur  de  Charny. 

They  descended  the  great  stair-way.  When  they  reached 
the  bottom,  Monsieur  de  Pomereux  turned  to  his  people. 

"I  confide  this  gentleman  to  you,"  said  he  to  them, 
designating  Monsieur  de  Charny.  "In  an  hour  you  will 
open  to  him  the  doors  of  the  hotel." 

The  lackeys  bowed,  and  they  passed  on.  The  carriage 
with  the  arms  of  the  Prince  de  Conde  was  waiting  for 
them.  Monsieur  de  Pomereux  made  Belle-Rose,  Deroute, 
and  the  child  mount  within ;  he  himself  sat  down  near  them. 


THE  SPEING  OF  1672.  829 

"Go!  "said  he. 

The  great  door  of  the  hotel  revolved  upon  its  hinges  the 
grooms  started  at  a  gallop,  the  carriage  followed  them, 
and  all  the  escort  moved  off  in  the  midst  of  noise  and 
flashes  of  light.  The  police  were  waiting  in  the  street.  At 
sight  of  the  carriage  on  which  the  escutcheon  with  the 
three  golden  fleurs  de  lis  sparkled,  they  hesitated. 

"Make  way  for  the  carriage  of  the  Prince  de  Conde!" 
cried  the  grooms,  whose  horses  were  neighing  and 
prancing. 

The  dazzled  archers  made  way,  and  the  procession 
passed  rapidly  on. 

"All  the  same,  my  dear,"  said  Monsieur  de  Pomereux  to 
Belle-Rose,  when  they  had  turned  the  corner  of  the  Rue 
du  Roi-de-Sicile,  "I  believe  that  you  would  have  done 
better  to  kill  Monsieur  de  Charny." 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 

THE    SPRING    OF    1672. 

Instead  of  making  for  Chantilly,  Monsieur  de  Pomer- 
eux's  carriage,  as  soon  as  they  had  passed  beyond  St. 
Denis,  turned  in  the  direction  of  Pontoise.  Gaston,  who 
had  opened  his  eyes  for  a  moment,,  closed  them  soon  and 
went  to  sleep  again.  Deroute  rubbed  his  hands  and  looked 
at  times  in  the  direction  of  Paris. 

"In  faith,  captain,"  said  he,  when  they  were  in  the 
open  country,  "perhaps  Monsieur  de  Pomereux  was  right, 
but  I  acknowledge  that  the  furious  and  despairing  face  of 
Mon&ieur  de  Charny  filled  me  with  joy;  he  was  upon  his 
chair,  white  as  a  specter,  and  galling  the  palm  of  his  hands 
with  his  nails." 

The  sun  had  been  shining  for  two  or  three  hours  when 
the  foaming  team  drew  up  before  the  doors  of  the  abbey. 
Grippard  was  the  first  to  notice  the  arrival  of  the  carriage. 
Suzanne,  warned  by  him,  ran  to  meet  Belle-Rose. 

"It  is  to  Monsieur  de  Pomereux  that  I  am  indebted  for 
seeing  you  again, "  said  the  captain,  presenting  the  count 
to  his  wife. 

Suzanne  took  Monsieur  de  Pomereux's  hands  between 
hers. 

"Once  again!"  she  exclaimed;  "you  are  lavish  of  devo- 
tion." 


330  THE  SPRING  OF  1672. 

"What  would  you,  madame!"  replied  the  count,  "when 
I  venture  to  have  a  virtue,  I  must  always  be  exposed  to  a 
defeat." 

Gaston  looked  at  everything  with  a  serious  air,  holding 
by  the  hand  his  friend  Deroute.  Belle-Kose  led  him  to 
Suzanne. 

"Behold,"  said  he,  "the  motive  of  my  absence." 

Suzanne  leaned  over  the  child  and  kissed  him. 

"It  is  Monsieur  d'Assonville's  son,"  added  Belle-Kose. 

"Monsieur  d'Assonville's  son!"  exclaimed  Suzanne; 
"oh!  I  love  him  already." 

It  was  the  hour  when  the  abbess  of  St.  Claire  d'Ennery 
was  to  be  found  in  her  oratory  after  the  morning  services. 
Belle-Rose  sent  to  ask  for  a  conversation,  taking  Gaston 
with  him.  As  he  entered  the  oratory,  Genevieve  uttered  a, 
cry  which  had  an  echo  in  the  heart  of  the  soldier ;  she 
took  the  child  in  her  arms  and  covered  it  with  kisses. 

"You  have  given  me  more  than  life, "  said  she,  quite  low, 
to  Belle-Rose,  "you  have  given  me  peace." 

Some  months  passed  in  a  profound  solitude ;  the  days 
fled  like  the  pure  water  of  a  stream  between  verdant 
shores ;  happiness  filled  them  all.  Nevertheless  it  some- 
times happened  that  Belle-Rose  looked  with  a  dreamy  air 
at  the  great  horizons  where  the  steeples  of  the  distant 
cities  were  drowned  in  the  mist.  When,  perchance,  a 
squadron  passed  through  the  country,  clarions  at  the  head 
and  flag  floating  in  the  wind,  he  followed  with  his  eyes 
the  warlike  march ;  his  cheeks  colored  at  the  aspect  of  the 
shining  arms  and  superb  horses ;  his  nostrils  quivered,  and 
when  the  squadron  disappeared  behind  a  fold  of  ground, 
he  still  listened  to  the  fanfares  and  sought  in  space  the 
shadow  of  the  floating  flags.  On  these  days  Belle-Rose  re- 
mained sad  and  care-worn.  All  these  brave  soldiers  going 
so  proudly  to  the  war  had  before  them  glory,  titles,  and 
honors. 

About  this  time  Suzanne  gave  birth  to  a  little  girl.  The 
child  was  held  over  the  baptismal  font  by  Genevieve,  who 
gave  it  its  name.  Belle-Rose  forgot  his  warlike  ideas  for  a 
moment,  but  soon  returned  to  them.  Meanwhile  the  spring 
of  1672  was  passing.  France  was  powerful  and  prosperous 
within,  feared  and  respected  without.  Her  influence 
dominated  Europe.  She  had  the  authority  of  genius  and 
the  preponderance  of  arms.  If  for  a  moment,  toward  the 
beginning  of  1668,  she  had  been  constrained  to  recoil  be- 
fore the  quadruple  alliance  of  Spain,  Holland,  England, 
and  Sweden,  and  to  consent  to  the  treaty  of  Aix-la- 


THE  SPRING  OF  1672.  331 

Chapelle,  stopped  in  the  heart  of  her  conquests  by  that 
formidable  league,  she  had  conceived  the  hope  and  pre- 
sentiment of  her  victories  to  come.  Louis  XIV.  had  for- 
gotten nothing.  In  the  midst  of  the  magnificence  of  his 
reign  and  the  pomp  of  a  court  which  was  unrivaled  in  the 
universe,  he  recollected  that  mortal  insult  made  him  by 
Van  Benning,  schevin  of  Amsterdam.  While  a  crowd  of 
gentlemen  filled  the  galleries  of  Versailles  and  St.  Ger- 
main, the  gazetteers  of  Holland  spared  the  young  king 
neither  disdain  nor  sarcasm.  Outrageous  medals  had  been 
struck,  and  it  was  said  that  upon  one  of  them  Van  Benning 
had  represented  him  along  with  a  sun  and  this  device  in 
exergue:  "In  conspectu  meo  stetitsol."  Louis  XIV.  was 
waiting.  He  knew  that  his  hour  was  near  at  hand,  and  he 
wished  a  splendid  vengeance.  From  1668  to  1672  was  spent 
in  preparations.  Astonished  Europe  and  disturbed  Holland 
watched  them.  War  was  to  be  felt  in  the  air,  and  no  one 
knew  where  it  would  burst  out.  The  flag  of  France  floated 
upon  all  the  seas.  The  admirals  were  Tourville,  Duquesne, 
d'Estrees;  the  chiefs  of  squadron,  Jean  Bart  and  Duquay- 
Trouin.  The  Marechal  de  Crequi  punished  the  Due  de 
Lorraine.  The  province  is  conquered  in  the  midst  of  a 
profound  peace,  and  France  cuts  off  all  communication  be- 
tween Franche-Comte  and  the  Low  Countries.  It  was 
already  much  but  not  enough.  It  was  necessary  to  detach 
the  King  of  England,  Charles  H.,  from  the  Dutch  alliance 
brought  about  by  the  Chevalier  Temple.  It  is  the  Duchess 
of  Orleans,  his  sister,  the  young  and  beautiful  Henriette, 
who  charges  herself  with  the  negotiations.  Her  journey 
was  a  triumphal  march.  The  court  of  Charles  II.  was  the 
most  gallant  and  dissolute  in  the  world.  The  skillfulness 
of  Colbert,  Croisy  and  the  influence  of  Henriette  triumphed 
over  the  true  interests  of  English  politics,  and  by  three 
successive  treaties,  King  Charles  II.  promises  fifty  vessels 
and  six  thousand  men  for  continental  war.  He  will  get 
three  millions  a  year,  and  the  nation  some  of  the  Dutch 
isles. 

The  indefatigable  activity  of  Louvois,  who  was  a  great 
minister  in  spite  of  his  defects,  had  brought  the  army  up 
to  a  hundred  and  eighty  thousand  men ;  never  had  it  been 
so  strong  and  so  well  organized ;  he  had  provided  it  with  a 
formidable  instrument  of  death,  the  bayonet,  and  the  most 
severe  discipline  reigned  among  the  troops.  As  to  the 
generals,  they  were  the  same  who,  in  1868,  had  conquered 
the  whole  of  Spanish  Flanders  in  two  months — Crequi, 
Turrenne,  Condi,  Grammont,  and  Luxembourg.  Every- 


332  THE  SPEING  OF  1672. 

thing  was  ready  for  war ;  France  had  her  hand  upon  the 
guard  of  her  sword.  Meanwhile  Holland,  confiding  in  her 
lagoons  and  her  dykes,  let  fall  into  ruin  her  dismantled 
fortifications;  the  party  of  the  rigid  republicans  tri- 
umphed ;  the  two  brothers  DeWitt  and  the  great  Ruy ter, 
•who  saw  in  Holland  only  an  isle,  governed,  and  thinking 
only  of  the  sea,  disdained  the  army,  composed  at  most  of 
twenty-five  thousand  bad  soldiers.  At  every  hour  French 
regiments  took  their  way  to  the  frontier  places  where  the 
fire  was  going  to  be  lighted.  Arras,  Bethune,  le  Quesnoy, 
Laudrecies,  Maubeuge,  St.  Pal,  St.  Omer  were  incumbered 
with  troops.  Something  of  all  these  noises  reached  the  ears 
of  Belle-Rose,  to  whom  the  sentiment  of  his  inaction  was 
crushing ;  he  asked  everywhere  and  on  all  occasions  for 
details  of  the  preparations  which  gave  to  the  kingdom  the 
appearance  of  a  warlike  hive.  Monsieur  de  Pomereux, 
who  visited  him  at  times  in  his  retreat,  related  to  him  all 
that  which  was  said  at  Versailles  and  Chantilly  of  the 
king's  plans;  he  spoke  to  him  of  the  camps  which  were  on 
the  banks  of  the  Sambre  and  of  the  intoxication  which 
possessed  the  whole  people.  Enthusiasm  was  everywhere. 
Each  day  increased  the  fever  which  consumed  Belle-Rose. 
In  the  position  in  which  he  was  placed  by  events,  repose 
was  destroying  him.  Monsieur  da  Louvois  was  not  one  of 
those  men  in  whom  time  wears  out  the  memory ;  for  com- 
bating and  conquering  his  animosity,  a  rival  animosity 
was  necessary ;  the  struggle  might  lessen,  if  not  destroy 
his  hatred.  Belle-Rose  recalled,  with  a  delicious  agitation, 
the  emotions  and  accidents  of  war ;  he  saw  pass  before  his 
eyes  the  animated  and  noisy  picture  of  the  camps,  he  heard 
the  horses  neigh  and  the  trumpets  sound.  The  army  was 
his  family,  and  war  his  country.  Deroute,  Grippard,  and 
Cornelius  shared  the  sentiments  of  Belle-Rose.  They 
looked  in  the  direction  of  the  horizon,  quite  ready,  with- 
out having  said  anything  about  it,  to  break  their  ties. 
Suzanne  and  Claudine  anticipated  their  resolutions,  with- 
out Belle-Rose  and  Cornelius  having  opened  themselves  to 
them.  A  last  visit  of  Monsieur  de  Pomereux  precipitated 
the  denouement.  It  was  at  the  end  of  April,  1672. 

"The  Prince  de  Conde's  equipages  are  ready, "  said  he, 
one  morning;  "before  three  days  his  household  will  leave 
for  Flanders. " 

All  Belle-Rose's  blood  rushed  to  his  cheeks  at  these 
words. 

"So  you  follow  him?"  said  he. 

"Even  to  the  Hague,  if  he  wishes." 


THE  SPRING  OF  1672.  333 

Belle-Eose  encountered  the  eyes  of  Deroute,  which  shone 
like  burning  coals. 

"The  court  is -warned, "  continued  the  count ;  "the  king 
will  quit  St.  Germain  on  the  27th  of  the  month;  the 
wagons  are  already  on  the  way,  the  relays  prepared,  and 
the  musketeers  have  taken  the  front  rank.  The  rendezvous 
is  at  Charleroi." 

"At  Charleroi!"  exclaimed  Deroute,  all  of  whose  recol- 
lections awoke  at  this  name. 

"I  should  wish  to  see  you  there,  Belle-Rose,"  continued 
Monsieur  de  Pomereux;  "the  campaign  promises  to  be 
beautiful;  it  would  seem  more  so  if  we  made  it  together." 

Belle-Rose  pressed  his  hand  without  replying,  but  in 
such  a  rough  manner  that  the  count  did  not  doubt  for  a 
moment  but  what  the  captain  had  taken  an  extreme  reso- 
lution. 

"If  you  have  need  of  me,"  he  added,  with  a  significant 
smile,  "you  will  find  me  till  to-morrow  at  Chantilly. " 

When  Monsieur  de  Pomereux  had  left  the  abbey,  Belle- 
Rose  turned  to  Deroute. 

"Deroute,"  he  said  to  him,  in  a  deep  tone  of  voice,  "we 
must  leave." 

"At  last!"  exclaimed  the  sergeant,  explosively. 

"I  do  not  yet  know  how  we  will  leave,"  continued  Belle- 
Rose,  "but  I  do  know  that  we  shall  leave." 

"To  leave  is  nothing,  to  arrive  is  everything,"  observed 
the  sergeant. 

Cornelius  came  up  just  then ;  he  saw  from  the  air  of  the 
two  interlocutors  that  they  were  discussing  a  grave  ques- 
tion. 

"Eh!  Monsieur  Irishman,"  exclaimed  Deroute,  who  thus 
styled  Cornelius  in  his  joyous  moments,  "it  is  a  plot  which 
is  brewing  between  us.  I  stake  a  crown  against  a  sou  that 
you  will  join  us." 

"It  is  a  question  of  leaving,"  added  Belle-Rose. 

"I  was  thinking  of  it,"  said  Cornelius. 

The  two  brothers  pressed  each  other's  hand. 

Grippard  was  called  to  the  council ;  if  he  was  not  very 
strong  in  invention,  he  was  prompt  and  determined  in 
execution. 

"We  mount  on  horseback  and  gallop  to  the  frontier!" 
exclaimed  Grippard,  enthusiastically. 

They  were  still  discussing  when  Monsieur  de  Charny's 
carriage  stopped  before  the  abbey.  That  somber  gentle- 
man descended  from  it  and  made  his  way  toward  that 


334  THE  SPRING  OF  1672. 

part  of  the  building  inhabited  by  the  Duchesse  de  Chateau- 
fort.     Deroute  at  once  arose  and  clapped  his  hands. 

"This  evening  we  will  be  free,"  he  exclaimed. 

This  was  not  the  first  time  Monsieur  de  Charny  had 
presented  himself  at  the  abbey ;  already,  and  under  divers 
pretexts,  he  had  paid  visits  to  Madame  de  Chateaufort. 
These  visits  had  awakened  some  suspicions  in  the  mind  of 
the  sergeant,  who,  without  communicating  them  to  any 
one,  held  himself  upon  his  guard.  Deroute  was  not  mis- 
taken when  he  credited  Monsieur  de  Charny  with  bad  in- 
tentions. Monsieur  de  Charny  never  forgot  anything.  The 
hatred  of  Monsieur  de  Louvois  had  become  his.  He  wished 
a  revenge  at  any  price.  Among  the  lackeys  who  accom- 
panied him,  there  were  two  who  were  specially  charged 
with  observing  the  inmates  of  the  abbey,  and  to  make 
preparations  for  a  nocturnal  abduction.  Monsieur  de 
Charny  knew  that  Belle-Rose  inhabited  an  isolated  build- 
ing, and  it  was  on  this  that  he  counted  for  the  success  of 
his  enterprise;  but  still,  before  running  any  chances,  it 
was  necessary  to  know  the  habits  of  the  house.  These  two 
lackeys  prowled  everywhere,  examining  everything  with 
a  sidelong  glance  and  making  the  gardeners  talk.  Two 
others  groomed  the  horses  and  did  not  neglect  to  aid  their 
comrades  with  their  knowledge  when  the  occasion  pre- 
sented itself.  At  the  third  visit,  Monsieur  de  Charny  knew 
all  that  he  wished  to  know ;  at  the  fourth  the  exact  topog- 
raphy of  the  place  was  obtained;  he  only  needed  one 
more  to  determine  his  plan  of  attack.  He  made  this  last 
visit  on  the  same  day  Belle-Rose  had  resolved  to  escape. 
It  was  then  toward  the  end  of  the  month  of  April.  The 
day  had  been  fearfully  warm ;  great  clouds  were  massed 
together  on  the  horizon ;  a  warm  and  rapid  wind  bent  the 
tree-tops.  Monsieur  de  Charny 's  lackeys  had  again  taken 
up  the  course  of  their  investigations. 

In  three  words  Deroute  informed  Belle-Rose,  Cornelius 
and  Grippard  of  his  plan.  All  adopted  it. 

"Now,"  said  Deroute  when  they  were  in  accord  as  to 
the  means  of  execution,  "let  us  have  good  eyes  and  feet." 

The  conspirators  plunged  into  the  gardens  close  behind 
the  agents  of  Monsieur  de  Charny. 

"Chut!"  said  Deroute  when  they  were  in  an  out-of-the- 
way  place  all  covered  with  trees ;  "here  is  one  of  the  ras- 
cals passing  along  the  hedge;  let  us  slip  to  the  other  side 
and  we  will  not  miss  him." 

Belle-Rose  and  Cornelius  followed  the  other,  and  De- 
route  and  Grippard  took  by  the  hedge,  walking  noiselessly 


THE  SPUING  OF  1672.  335 

upon  the  grass.  When  they  were  at  the  end,  they  stretched 
themselves  out  flat  upon  their  stomachs  in  a  ditch  and 
waited,  with  eyes  fixed  upon  the  lackey  whom  they  looked 
at  through  the  brush  wood.  The  lackey  came  up  slowly; 
when  he  was  three  steps  from  them,  "believing  himself 
alone,  he  drew  a  pencil  from  his  pocket  and  traced  some 
lines  upon  a  slip  of  paper.  He  had  his  foot  upon  a  tree- 
stump,  the  paper  upon  his  knee,  and  his  body  inclined  for- 
ward. Deroute  and  Grippard  rose  slowly  and  pounced 
upon  the  lackey,  who  found  himself  taken  without  having 
time  to  move. 

"If  you  cry  out,  you  are  a  dead  man,"  Deroute  said  to 
him,  making  him  feel  the  point  of  his  poniard  in  the  neck. 

The  frightened  lackey  was  silent,  and  they  bound  him 
with  ends  of  cord,  of  which  the  sergeant's  pockets  were 
full. 

"This  makes  one!"  said  Deroute,  after  the  lackey  was 
stretched  out  upon  the  grass,  with  feet  and  hands  tied. 

A  whistle  was  heard. 

"That  makes  two!"  exclaimed  he. 

He  ran  in  the  direction  from  which  the  whistle  came, 
and  found  Belle-Rose  and  Cornelius  securing  the  second 
lackey.  The  two  prisoners  were  transported  to  a  safe 
place  and  undressed. 

"There  are  two  more, "  said  the  sergeant  to  Belle-Rose, 
"and  we  will  charge  ourselves  with  those  two,  will  we 
not,  Grippard?" 

"Parbleu!"  said  the  corporal,  who  was  already  dressing 
himself. 

Large  drops  of  rain  began  to  fall,  and  the  day  was  draw- 
ing to  a  close  when  the  little  troop  quitted  the  building 
where  the  two  lackeys  had  been  placed  under  lock  and 
key. 

Deroute  and  Grippard  proceeded  to  the  stables.  Of  the 
two  lackeys  who  remained,  one,  fatigued  by  the  warmth 
of  this  stifling  evening,  had  gone  to  sleep  under  a  shed ; 
the  other  was  strolling  around  the  stables.  The  latter  saw 
Deroute  and  Grippard  coming ;  and  from  their  costume,  he 
took  them  for  his  two  comrades. 

"Come  on!"  he  exclaimed;  "we  must  get  the  horses  and 
carriages  ready." 

Deroute  followed  the  lackey,  who  entered  under  the 
coach-house;  Grippard  did  not  quit  him.  At  a  sign  from 
the  sergeant,  he  threw  himself  upon  the  lackey,  making 
the  blade  of  a  poniard  shine  at  two  inches  from  his  face. 
The  lackey  resigned  himself  at  once ;  they  despoiled  him 


336  A  PLEASANT  JOURNEY. 

of  his  clothing,  and  he  was  concealed,  bound  and  gagged, 
behind  some  stacks  of  straw.  As  to  the  lackey  -who  -was 
asleep,  they  were  some  time  in  discovering  him.  A  certain 
little  noise  which  was  being  made  in  a  somber  corner  at- 
tracted Deroute  in  that  direction ;  this  noise  came  from 
the  sleeper,  who  was  snoring  loudly.  This  one  also  was 
seized,  bound,  and  gagged  before  he  was  even  thoroughly 
awake. 

"Let  us  make  haste,"  said  Deroute,  "it  is  getting  dark." 

The  shade  of  night  began  to  grow  more  dense ;  objects 
were  distinguishable  only  in  an  uncertain  light;  great 
clouds  extended  their  vails  over  the  sky.  The  rain  fell 
more  rapidly  and  more  heavily.  In  a  turn  of  the  hand,  Belle- 
Rose  and  Cornelius  had  changed  clothes ;  in  a  corner  of 
the  coach-house  there  were  some  cloaks,  which  they  took; 
the  horses  were  saddled  and  bridled. 

"One  word,"  cried  Belle-Rose  to  his  friends ;  "if  we  are 
recognized,  let  us  all  leave  together ;  the  rest  concerns  our 
pistols." 

Monsieur  de  Charny  descended.  As  he  was  going  to 
mount  within  the  carriage,  Suzanne  appeared  upon  the 
threshold  of  a  chapel  where  she  was  accustomed  to  make 
her  evening  devotions.  A  flash  of  lightning,  followed  by  a 
violent  clap  of  thunder,  illuminated  all  this  scene.  Suzanne 
divined  Belle-Rose  under  his  large  felt  hat ;  the  captain 
pressed  his  finger  to  his  lips,  and  she  had  the  courage  to 
remain  immovable. 

"Light  the  torches  and  leave,"  said  Monsieur  de  Charny. 

The  team,  frightened  by  the  noises  of  the  storm,  reared 
at  first,  then  plunged  forward.  Suzanne  fell  upon  her 
knees,  and  the  cortege  disappeared  in  the  night.  At 
the  end  of  five  minutes  it  was  but  a  spark  flying  in  the 
shadows.  Suzanne  arose. 

"My  God!"  said  she,  "watch  over  them." 


CHAPTER  L. 

A  PLEASANT  JOURNEY. 

The  equipage  went  like  the  wind.  At  some  distance 
from  the  abbey,  Deroute,  who  was  galloping  at  the  head, 
saw,  upon  the  lower  side  of  the  road,  silent  cavaliers  en- 
veloped in  great  cloaks.  They  rode  to  the  carriage,  recog- 
nized it  for  that  of  Monsieur  de  Charny,  and  bowed. 


A  PLEASANT  JOUENEY.  337 

Belle-Rose  and  Cornelius  ran  each  to  one  of  the  doors  of 
the  carriage.  At  the  end  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  Monsieur 
de  Charny  lowered  one  of  the  windows,  that  one  which 
was  next  to  Belle-Rose. 

"Hey !  Grain-d'Orge!"  said  he. 

Grain-d'Orge  took  care  not  to  answer,  but  Belle-Rose 
boldly  pushed  his  horse  up  to  the  door. 

"Behold  him,  monsieur,"  said  he,  uncovering  his  face. 

Monsieur  de  Charny  recognized  him  in  the  vacillating 
light  of  the  torches ;  he  uttered  a  cry  and  wished  to  plunge 
through  the  door,  but  he  encountered  the  muzzle  of  a  pis- 
tol in  close  proximity  to  his  forehead. 

"Stir  and  you  are  a  dead  man,"  Belle-Rose  said  to 
him. 

Monsieur  de  Charny  threw  himself  on  the  other  side, 
but  he  found  himself  facing  Cornelius,  who  saluted  him  in 
the  same  manner  as  Belle-Rose.  Monsieur  de  Charny 
understood  that  he  was  taken  as  in  a  mouse-trap ;  he  had 
no  other  arm  than  his  sword,  and  lead  had  this  time  the 
advantage  over  steel.  A  furious  imprecation  burst  from 
his  lips. 

"Come,"  said  Belle-Rose,  "do  not  get  vexed,  and  above 
all,  do  not  seek  to  escape.  You  are  alone  in  a  kind  of  box, 
we  are  two  on  horseback  and  well  armed ;  your  lackeys 
are  imprisoned  at  the  abbey;  Deroute  and  Grippard  are  in 
front,  your  postilions  suspect  nothing ;  they  have  whips, 
and  we  have  pistols.  Let  us  talk." 

Monsieur  de  Charny  remained  silent. 

"The  misadventure  renders  you  taciturn,  my  dear  Mon- 
sieur de  Charny,"  continued  Belle-Rose.  "This  silence 
gives  me  a  lofty  idea  of  your  philosophy.  It  is  necessary 
to  take  time  as  it  comes.  You  have  played  well,  and  you 
have  lost ;  it  is  not  your  fault.  The  plan  was  pretty.  I 
have  found  the  details  in  the  pocket  of  that  amiable  scamp 
whom  you  wore  calling  just  now.  Is  it  not  Grain-d'Orge 
that  you  call  him?  Escalade,  rape — nothing  was  lacking. 
Only  twenty-four  hours  was  needed  to  put  the  plan  in  exe- 
cution. In  faith,  I  have  not  wished  that  such  a  beautiful 
invention  should  be  lost  through  my  departure ;  I  have 
turned  the  whole  over  to  Madame  de  Chateaufort,  who 
will  appreciate  its  exquisite  delicacy." 

At  these  last  words  Monsieur  de  Charny  bowed,  and  his 
face  was  illuminated  by  a  bitter  smile. 

"The  relay!"  exclaimed  Cornelius  all  at  once. 

Monsieur  de  Charny  leaned  out  of  the  door;  some  hun- 
dred steps  away  a  light  was  seen  shining  in  the  night 


338  A  PLEASANT  JOURNEY. 

The  movement  of  Monsieur  de  Cliarny  did  not  escape 
Belle-Rose. 

"Monsieur,"  he  said  to  him,  in  a  firm  tone,  "I  swear  to 
you  that  I  will  kill  you  like  a  dog,  not  only  at  the  first 
cry,  but  at  the  first  gesture." 

"And  if  Belle-Rose  should  happen  to  miss  you,  I  will 
not  miss  you,"  added  Cornelius. 

Monsieur  de  Charny  did  not  mistake  the  accent  of  the 
two  cavaliers ;  he  slunk  back  in  a  corner  like  a  boar  and 
did  not  budge  any  more.  The  relay  was  reached  which 
had  been  prepared  in  advance  at  Franconville.  The  foam- 
ing horses  were  unharnessed;  Deroute  and  Grippard 
leaped  quickly  into  the  saddle  and  replaced  Belle-Rose  and 
Cornelius  at  the  doors  of  the  carriage.  They  also  ex- 
changed horses  with  them.  They  kept  on  as  far  as  St. 
Denis,  where  they  relayed  again,  and  the  carriage  con- 
tinued its  route  to  Paris.  At  the  end  of  five  hundred  steps, 
Belle-Rose  saluted  Monsieur  de  Charny  with  his  hand. 

"Your  company  has  served  us  as  an  escort,"  he  said  to 
him;  "we  owe  our  liberty  to  you,  I  leave  you  your  life  in 
exchange,  and  we  are  quits.  Let  us  endeavor  now  to  avoid 
meeting  again." 

During  this  little  discourse  Deroute  and  Grippard  had 
cut  the  traces  and  forced  the  postilions  to  come  down  off 
their  horses.  Belle-Rose  and  his  friends  rode  rapidly 
away.  When  Monsieur  de  Charny  reached  the  Porte  St. 
Denis  no  one  had  seen  anything.  The  four  cavaliers  had 
fled  like  phantoms.  As  a  quarter  of  a  league  from  Paris, 
Belle-Rose  had  brusquely  turned  to  the  right  and  regained 
St.  Denis  by  cuts  across  the  country.  At  daybreak  the 
four  fugitives  reached  Chantilly,  where  they  asked  for 
Monsieur  de  Pomereux.  That  young  gentleman  was  break- 
fasting gayly,  all  booted  and  spurred ;  he  received  Belle- 
Rose  with  open  arms. 

"Parbleu!"  he  exclaimed,  "I  was  expecting  you.  I 
didn't  know  how  you  would  do  it,  but  I  was  almost  sure 
that  you  would  arrive." 

When  he  was  told  how  they  had  succeeded  in  leaving 
the  abbey,  Monsieur  de  Pomereux  laughed  with  all  his 
heart. 

"It  is  unfortunate,"  he  added,  "that  he  has  not  defended 
himself,  for  you  would  have  had  an  excuse  to  kill  him." 

The  death  of  Monsieur  de  Charny  was  decidedly  the 
fixed  idea  of  Monsieur  de  Pomereux.  Chantilly  was  in- 
cumbered  with  gentlemen  who  were  joining,  in  quality  of 
volunteers,  the  household  of  the  Prince  de  Conde". 


A  PLEASANT  JOURNEY.  339 

"You  have  come  at  the  right  time,"  Monsieur  de 
Pomereux  said  to  them ;  "the  order  has  come  this  morn- 
ing for  us  to  set  out.  The  king  and  princes  will  rejoin  us 
at  Compiegne.  You  will  be  taken  for  volunteers,  and  you 
will  have  nothing  more  to  fear." 

About  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  the  procession  set 
out.  Belle-Rose  and  Cornelius  rode  beside  Monsieur  de 
Pomereux.  Deroute  and  Grippard  came  behind.  The  route 
which  they  were  following  was  filled  with  troops,  carts, 
baggage,  carriages,  and  cavaliers.  They  encountered 
squadrons  ranged  in  long  files,  battalions  stretched  out 
like  ribbons,  and  trains  of  heavy  artillery.  At  sight  of 
the  cannons,  Deroute  became  red  with  pleasure.  He  rode 
his  horse  up  to  one  of  the  pieces,  a  beautiful  cannon  of 
fleur-de-lis  bronze,  and  caressed  with  his  hand  its  shining 
breech. 

"If  I  were  King  of  France,"  said  he,  "I  should  always 
have  a  dozen  of  them  near  me,  all  loaded,  and  from  time 
to  time  I  would  make  them  play  in  order  to  have 
music. ' ' 

The  peasants  came  to  the  road  in  order  to  see  the  regi- 
ments and  companies  of  gentlemen  who  were  going  to  the 
war,  beautiful,  smiling,  and  decorated  as  if  they  were 
going  to  a  ball.  When  they  traversed  villages,  the  whole 
population  ranged  themselves  where  the  soldiers  passed 
along.  In  the  cities  there  was  something  more  than  this. 
The  inhabitants  took  possession  of  them,  and  the  next  day 
there  was  to  be  seen  on  the  cockade  of  the  hats  and  the 
guard  of  the  sword  bouquets  of  flowers  and  knots  of  ribbon 
which  recalled  to  the  gentlemen  their  ephemeral  loves  of 
a  night.  In  all  this  beautiful  country  of  France,  so  well 
organized  for  war,  this  military  attire  awoke  enthusiasm. 
The  king  and  his  household  were  at  Compiegne.  The  light- 
ning was  about  to  burst  through  the  cloud.  When  Mon- 
sieur de  Pomereux  and  Belle-Rose  reached  the  frontiers, 
Flanders  was  studded  with  bayonets.  The  army  was  being 
concentrated  at  Charleroi.  When  near  Arras,  Belle-Rose 
sought  information  of  the  officer  in  charge  of  the  baggage 
as  to  the  quarters  of  Monsieur  de  Luxembourg.  The 
duke's  lodging  was  on  the  side  of  Marchienne-le-Pont. 
Belle-Rose  warned  Cornelius  and  Deroute,  and  left  during 
the  night,  after  having  said  good-by  to  Monsieur  de 
Pomereux. 

"Good  luck!"  the  count  said  to  him,  "if  some  misfor- 
tune should  happen  to  you,  think  of  me." 

"Bahl"  said  Deroute,  "we  have  the  regiment  of  La 


340  A  PLEASANT  JOUENEY. 

Ferte  for  us;  Monsieur  de  Charny's  men  will  not  go  so  far 
as  to  rub  against  the  artillery." 

Along  the  route  which  they  followed  from  Arras  to 
Marchienne,  the  flowery  plains  were  lit  up  by  a  thousand 
fires.  In  the  silence  of  the  night  was  to  be  heard  the  songs 
of  the  soldiers  who  were  drinking  in  the  bivouacs. 
Couriers  passed  at  a  gallop,  carrying  orders  to  divers 
corps,  and  in  the  midst  of  the  shadows  was  to  be  seen 
silent  regiments  advancing  over  the  plains  like  gigantic 
boa-constrictors.  Monsieur  de  Luxembourg  was  in  com- 
mand of  the  army  on  the  frontier.  Order  and  activity 
reigned  everywhere.  The  illustrious  captain  who  was  one 
day  to  succeed  the  Prince  de  Conde  and  the  Vicomte  de 
Turenne,  and  sustain  the  honor  of  the  French  flag,  had 
established  among  the  troops  an  exact  and  rigid  discipline. 
Careless,  irregular,  voluptuous  in  his  private  life,  he 
brought  to  the  affairs  of  war  a  promptitude,  a  firmness 
which  imposed  respect  and  obedience.  His  glance  had  that 
clearness  and  that  certainty  which  make  great  generals ; 
his  bravery  equaled  that  of  the  Prince  de  Conde.  If  he 
had  not  yet  accomplished  those  great  things  and  gained 
those  furious  battles  which  were  to  carry  his  reputation  so 
high,  it  had  been  seen,  even  in  the  first  campaigns,  that 
he  had  in  him  the  germ  of  his  brilliant  qualities.  He  had 
the  esteem  of  the  chiefs  and  the  confidence  of  the  soldiers. 
In  proportion  as  he  advanced  in  the  direction  of  Marchi- 
enne, the  sight  of  the  places  recalled  to  Belle-Rose  one  of 
the  most  terrible  episodes  of  his  stormy  life.  He  saw  from 
the  top  of  a  hill  the  little  pavilion  where  Genevieve  had 
bade  him  such  a  sad  farewell ;  and,  upon  a  part  of  the 
bank  washed  by  the  Sambre,  the  lugubrious  spot  where 
Monsieur  de  Villebrais  had  uttered  his  three  cries  of 
agony.  The  old  willow  was  still  there,  bathing  its  branches 
in  the  water.  When  Belle-Rose  reached  Marchienne-le- 
Pont,  he  found  the  residence  of  Monsieur  de  Luxembourg 
surrounded  by  officers  and  aides-de-camp.  The  day  had 
just  began,  and  its  first  rays  had  awakened  the  great  hive 
where  buzzed  twenty  thousand  soldiers.  Horses  already 
saddled  were  prancing  around  the  pickets.  Monsieur  de 
Luxembourg  was  expediting  his  dispatches.  An  order  was 
necessary  to  reach  him.  Belle-Rose  dismounted ;  Deroute 
did  not  have  enough  eyes  for  looking  at  the  parks  of 
artillery,  the  tents,  the  stacks  of  arms ;  a  thousand  wild 
exclamations  came  from  his  lips.  He  had  just  recognized 
three  or  four  sub-officers  who  had  served  in  the  regiment 
of  La  Ferte,  and  was  bubbling  over  with  impatience.  Just 


A  PLEASANT  JOUKNEY.  341 

as  he  was  about  to  strike  one  of  them  on  the  shoulder  an 
officer,  followed  by  an  orderly,  came  up  at  a  gallop  in  the 
midst  of  the  groups  who  surrounded  the  dwelling  of  the 
general.  His  face  was  joyous  and  animated. 

"My  brother!"  exclaimed  Belle-Rose. 

"The  colonel!"  exclaimed  Deroute. 

At  this  double  cry,  Monsieur  cle  Naucrais — for  it  was 
he — turned  round,  and  at  the  same  glance  he  recognized 
the  sergeant  and  the  captain. 

"Belle-Rose!"  exclaimed  he,  in  his  turn. 

And  leaping  from  his  horse,  he  threw  himself  into  the 
arms  of  Belle-Rose,  who,  from  those  of  the  colonel,  passed 
into  those  of  Pierre. 

"At  last!"  said  de  Nauorais,  "they  have  opened  their 
claws!" 

"That  is  to  say  that  I  have  left  them." 

"Well,  morbleu!  you  shall  not  return  to  them.  The 
army  is  a  place  of  exile." 

"It  is  a  paradise!"  murmured  Deroute. 

Monsieur  de  Naucrais  smiled  as  he  looked  at  the 
sergeant. 

"As  to  you,"  said  he,  "if  some  one  comes  to  seek  you, 
you  have  a  halberd  for  defending  yourself." 

Monsieur  de  Naucrais  and  Belle-Rose  passed  into  the 
apartment  of  Monsieur  de  Luxembourg.  At  the  colonel's 
name,  the  general  turned  abruptly  toward  the  door. 

"Have  you  the  order?"  he  exclaimed. 

"I  have  it,"  answered  Monsieur  de  Naucrais,  drawing  a 
dispatch  from  his  coat;  "you  will  soon  have,  monsieur  le 
due,"  he  added,  "twenty  occasions  to  signal  your  courage 
against  the  enemies  of  the  king  and  the  kingdom ;  another 
presents  itself  now  to  signal  your  generosity.  Here  is  an 
officer  who  claims  your  protection." 

"Captain  Belle-Rose!"  exclaimed  the  duke. 

And  he  ran  to  embrace  the  young  man. 

"You  have  sought  my  support,  and  my  support  shall 
not  fail  you,"  said  he;  "as  I  am  the  cause  of  the  evil,  it  is 
my  duty  to  repair  it." 

Belle-Rose  wished  to  interrupt  him;  Monsieur  de 
Luxembourg  stopped  him  with  a  gesture. 

"Certainly  ,"  said  he,  "I  have  done  what  I  could;  but 
since  I  have  not  succeeded,  I  have  done  nothing.  The  fir- 
ing of  the  convent  and  the  carrying  off  of  Madame  d'Alber- 
gotti  caused  my  steps  to  fail  when  they  were  perhaps  going 
to  succeed.  The  king  has  seen  in  that  incident  an  attack  on 
religion,  and  you  know  his  disposition  on  that  score. 


342  A  PLEASANT  JOURNEY. 

But  the  war  is  here,  Belle-Rose ;  the  sword  can  conquer 
everything." 

"I  shall  try  it,"  said  Belle-Rose,  with  a  proud  smile. 

"And  the  occasions  will  not  fail  you,  friend  Jacques, " 
said  the  duke.  "I  have  been  told  things  about  you  which 
prove  that  your  hand  has  not  grown  benumbed  during 
peace.  You  are  among  us,  stay  here ;  the  army  is  a  great 
family,  and  all  soldiers  are  brothers." 

Monsieur  de  Luxembourg  opened  the  dispatches  which 
Monsieur  de  Naucrais  had  brought  him ;  his  eyes  sparkled 
as  he  ran  over  them  and  his  cheeks  reddened. 

"It  is  war!  messieurs,"  he  exclaimed,  in  a  vibrating 
tone.  "The  king  is  passing  his  troops  in  review;  as  to  us, 
we  shall  soon  pass  to  the  frontier." 

When  Belle-Rose  and  Monsieur  de  Naucrais  went  out, 
they  found  groups  of  officers  waiting  for  them  at  the  door. 
At  the  news  of  the  war  which  was  on  the  eve  of  bursting 
out,  there  were  among  these  brave  gentlemen  a  thousand 
cries  of  enthusiasm.  The  news  spread  over  the  camp  like 
an  electric  spark,  sowing  intoxication  everywhere;  the 
soldiers  placed  their  hats  at  the  end  of  their  bayonets  and 
embraced  each  other.  When  evening  came,  fires  were  lit 
all  along  the  line,  and  the  camp  presented  the  aspect  of  a 
great  ant-hill  of  soldiers  agitated  by  a  nervous  ardor. 
What  Monsieur  de  Luxembourg  had  foreseen  happened ; 
the  officers  who  had  served  in  the  same  corps  as  Belle-Rose 
in  1668,  welcomed  him  like  a  brother  in  arms  and  pre- 
sented him  to  their  new  comrades.  If  needed,  the  captain 
would  have  found  fifty  swords  for  defending  him  and 
numberless  tents  for  receiving  him.  The  regiment  of  La 
Ferte,  in  which  he  had  first  served  and  gained  his  first 
grade,  congregated  around  him,  and  displayed  for  him  the 
liveliest  affection.  As  to  Pierre,  he  had  not  quitted  Mon- 
sieur de  Naucrais,  who  had  attached  him  to  his  person. 
He  had  become  corporal,  then  sergeant,  and  had  a  strong 
desire  to  become  captain.  At  the  end  of  an  hour,  Deroute 
came  back,  bringing  with  him  a  dozen  sergeants,  whom  he 
had  recruited  among  his  old  acquaintances. 

"Our  pardon  is  at  the  en i  of  our  swords,"  Belle-Rose 
said  to  him. 

"Then  we  hold  it,"  said  Deroute,  with  a  calm  air. 

This  night  the  sergeant  went  to  sleep  under  a  cannon. 


THE  RHINE.  343 

CHAPTER  LI 

THE  RHINE. 

The  invasion  of  Holland,  in  1672,  was  "a  thunderbolt  in 
a  serene  sky,"  to  make  use  of  the  expression  of  the 
Chevalier  Temple.  A  hundred  thousand  men  abandon  at 
the  same  time  their  cantonments  in  Flanders,  and  travers- 
ing the  Sambre  and  the  Meuse,  penetrate  the  Low  Coun- 
tries. The  army  takes  possession  at  first  of  Rhimberg, 
Orsoy,  Wesel,  and  Burich,  and  drives  before  it  the  fright- 
ened enemy.  Successes  so  rapid  inflame  the  ardor  of  the 
officers ;  the  submission  of  the  country  around  Liege  opens 
the  way  to  the  Republic;  the  army  passes  by  Maestricht, 
the  siege  of  which  might  have  delayed  the  march  of  the 
troops,  and  pushes  on  farther.  Grol  had  just  fallen  into 
the  hands  of  Monsieur  de  Luxembourg,  when  on  the  12th 
of  June,  King  Louis  XIV.  in  person  arrived  on  the  banks 
of  the  Rhine.  The  Prince  de  Conde  was  with  him ;  the 
Due  de  Luxembourg  rejoined  the  great  captain.  The 
Rhine  crossed,  Issel  was  alone  left  between  the  king  and 
Amsterdam. 

Belle-Rose  and  Deroute  had  hastened,  immediately  after 
the  capitulation  of  Grol,  to  gain  the  general  quarters, 
where  the  presence  of  the  king  and  the  Prince  de  Conde 
attracted  a  great  number  of  volunteers.  From  the  heights 
of  Sherewberg  were  to  be  discovered  the  course  of  the 
Rhine  and  the  Issel,  the  Wellaw  and  the  Bellaw ;  the  isle 
was  defended  by  the  Fort  de  Schenck  and  covered  by  the 
Wahal,  whose  impetuous  current  sheltered  it  from  all 
attack.  The  Prince  of  Orange  had  left  upon  the  right  bank 
of  the  Rhine  one  of  his  lieutenants,  Montebas,  with  eight 
regiments  divided  into  three  camps,  who  guarded  the  pas- 
sages from  Fort  de  Schenck  to  Arnheim ;  one  at  Hussen, 
the  other  at  Borgschott,  and  the  third  at  Tolhus.  Behind 
these  three  camps  extended  a  sandy  country,  strewn  with 
dykes  and  all  cut  up  with  hedges  and  ditches.  Parties  of 
cavaliers  were  constantly  to  be  found  upon  the  bank,  spy- 
ing on  the  operations  of  the  French  troops  who  had  for  intro- 
ducing themselves  into  the  heart  of  Holland  only  the  space 
comprised  between  Arnheim  and  Fort  de  Schenck.  During 
the  night  which  preceded  the  arrival  of  the  king  Belle- 
Rose  left  his  tent.  But  he  did  it  with  such  extreme  pru- 
dence that  Deroute,  who  was  sleeping  in  a  corner,  did  not 


344  THE  EHINE. 

hear  him.  When  he  was  some  steps  from  his  tent,  Belle- 
Rose  took  his  horse  by  the  bridle,  swathed  its  feet  with 
linen,  and  moved  away  from  the  camp.  After  he  had 
passed  the  last  sentinel,  he  left  at  a  gallop  in  the  direction 
of  the  river.  The  swathed  feet  of  the  horse  struck  the 
ground  noiselessly.  Upon  the  other  bank  were  to  be  seen 
the  fires  of  the  Dutch  bivouacs  and  in  the  midst  of  the 
silence  of  the  night  was  to  be  heard  the  cries  of  the  sen- 
tries who  were  answering  each  other.  Belle-Rose  rode  his 
horse  into  the  Rhine  and  slowly  followed  its  windings  and 
turnings.  He  had  been  gone  from  the  camp  three  or  four 
hours  when  a  cannon-shot  awoke  the  sergeant  in  surprise. 
Deroute  opened  his  eyes  and  looked  around  him ;  there  was 
no  one  in  the  tent  except  Grippard,  who  was  snoring  un- 
concernedly. Cornelius  was  with  Monsieur  de  Naucrais. 
Another  cannon-shot  drew  Deroute  from  his  lethargic 
immobility ;  he  bounded  to  his  feet  and  rushed  out  of  the 
tent.  A  dozen  detonations  which  burst  upon  the  other 
bank  made  him  run  in  the  direction  of  the  Rhine,  no 
longer  doubting  but  what  Belle-Rose  had,  for  some  uncer- 
tain enterprise,  taken  his  way  in  that  direction.  As  he 
approached  the  bank,  he  saw  a  man  on  horseback  ad- 
vancing toward  him  at  a  gallop.  Deroute  recognized 
Belle-Rose  in  spite  of  the  night. 

"Hey!  captain!"  he  cried,  "are  you  the  cause  of  all  that 
stir  over  the  way." 

"In  faith,  it  is  impossible,"  said  Belle-Rose. 

He  had  scarcely  finished  speaking,  when  a  flash  illumin- 
ated the  Tower  of  Tolhus,  and  a  ball  demolished  the  trunk 
of  a  willow  at  twenty  steps  from  them. 

"Now  I  am  certain  of  it,"  said  Deroute,  with  a  tranquil 
air.  "Ah!  my  God,"  he  added,  "how  wet  you  are;  where 
the  devil  do  you  come  from?" 

"From  the  Rhine,  apparently,"  replied  Belle-Rose, 
wringing  his  cloak  which  was  dripping  water. 

"The  bath  has  not  been  without  music,  but  I  fail  to  see 
the  use  of  it." 

Belle-Rose  smiled. 

"When  I  was  quite  a  child,"  said  he,  placing  his  hand 
upon  the  sergeant's  shoulder,  "my  father  often  made  me 
read  in  a  great  book  in  which  all  that  which  comes  from 
the  heart  is  written.  In  this  book,  there  was  a  phrase 
which  struck  me  at  the  time  and  which  I  have  never 
forgotten  since." 

"What  phrase?" 

"This  is  it:  'Seek  and  you  will  find.'  " 


THE  HEINE.  345 

"Well,  what  does  that  prove?"  asked  Deroute,  who  was 
puzzling  his  mind  to  divine  what  connection  there  could 
be  between  Dutchmen  and  the  old  book  in  which  Belle- 
Rose  read. 

"It  proves  that  I  have  sought  and  that  I  have  found." 

Deroute,  who  was  not  extra  bright  when  it  came  to 
parables,  soon  gave  up  trying  to  understand  this  one; 
Belle-Rose  was  neither  dead  nor  wounded,  and  the  rest  in 
no  wise  concerned  him.  When  they  returned  to  the  tent, 
Grippard  was  still  sleeping.  At  the  third  cannon-shot  he 
had  opened  his  eyes  for  a  moment,  and  had  gone  to  sleep 
again,  dreaming  that  he  had  heard  a  cricket.  As  soon  as 
he  had  changed  his  clothing,  Belle-Rose  went  to  Monsieur 
de  Luxembourg's.  The  next  day  the  Prince  de  Conde  had 
two  batteries  constructed  and  ordered  a  bridge  of  boats  to 
be  prepared.  From  the  heights  of  Sherewberg  Louis  XIV. 
examined  the  enemy's  position.  While  the  artillery  was 
being  placed  which  was  to  protect  the  military  operation, 
Monsieur  de  Luxembourg  approached  the  Prince  de  Conde 
and  spoke  to  him  in  a  low  tone  for  some  moments.  The 
prince  let  fall  an  exclamation  of  surprise. 

"Is  he  a  safe  man?"  he  exclaimed  all  at  once. 

"Safe  as  myself,"  answered  the  duke. 

"Well,  let  him  try !"  said  the  prince. 

Belle-Rose  was  some  steps  away  from  the  general  offi- 
cers, watching  their  interview.  Upon  a  gesture  from 
Monsieur  de  Luxembourg,  he  ran  up. 

"Here  is  Monseigneur  le  Prince  de  Conde  who  permits 
you  to  do  what  you  wish,"  he  said  to  him. 

Belle-Rose  saluted  without  replying  and  drew  his  sword. 

"Eh!  monsieur,"  added  the  prince,  "it  is  a  rather  bold 
enterprise,  and  one  which  may  cost,  without  result,  the 
lives  of  many  brave  men.  Do  you  wish  to  take  some  men 
with  you?" 

"Give  me  ten  men,  if  you  wish,  my  prince, "  answered 
Belle-Rose. 

"You  shall  have  twenty,  and,  if  the  thing  is  possible, 
believe  that  we  will  soon  be  at  your  side." 

Belle-Rose  rode  rapidly  away.  Ten  cuirasseirs  of  Mon- 
sieur Revel's  regiment,  ten  volunteers  of  the  gardes  du 
corps  and  three  or  four  officers  of  the  prince's  retinue  fol- 
lowed him.  Behind  him  came  Cornelius,  Deroute  and 
Grippard.  As  they  touched  the  shore,  they  encountered  a 
troop  of  gentlemen,  among  whom  was  Monsieur  de  Pom- 
ereux.  The  young  officer  had  donned  his  most  beautiful 
uniform,  hoping  that  there  would  be  some  fighting  done. 


346  THE  RHINE. 

"Where  are  you  going?"  exclaimed  the  count. 

"Over  there!"  replied  Belle-Rose,  pointing  out  to  him 
the  Tower  of  Tolhus  with  the  end  of  his  sword. 

"Do  you  wish  to  pass  the  Rhine?" 

"Certainly." 

"On  horseback?" 

"Parbleu!" 

"But  it  is  impossible!"  exclaimed  two  or  three 
gentlemen. 

"Come  first,  and  you  will  see." 

"In  fact,  if  it  were  easy,  it  would  not  be  worth  while 
trying  it!"  exclaimed  the  count. 

"Let  us  go!"  said  the  others,  unsheathing. 

Monsieur  de  Pomereux  rode  near  Belle-Rose.  The  little 
troop  threw  itself  into  the  water.  Among  them  were  Mon- 
sieur de  Maurevert,  Comte  de  Saulx,  the  Marquis  de 
Thermes,  the  Due  de  Coislin,  the  Prince  de  Marcillac,  and 
several  others  of  the  first  nobility  of  the  kingdom.  Upon 
the  opposite  shore  they  perceived  three  Dutch  squadrons 
ranged  in  line  of  battle ;  in  the  tower  of  Tolhus,  the  can- 
noneers were  at  their  pieces,  with  matches  lighted. 
Scarcely  had  they  made  ten  steps  in  the  river,  when  De- 
route  struck  himself  on  the  forehead. 

"Good!"  he  exclaimed,  "it  is  a  ford." 

He  had  understood  the  parable. 

"Well,"  Belle-Rose  said  to  him,  "do  you  believe  that  the 
Evangelist  is  right?" 

The  troop,  which  was  composed  of  forty  persons,  ad- 
vanced with  bursts  of  laughter. 

"If  we  die,  we  shall  at  least  die  gayly,"  said  Monsieur 
de  Pomereux. 

The  cuirassiers,  more  heavily  armed,  remained  some- 
what in  the  rear ;  the  volunteers,  ardent  and  well  mounted, 
marched  first.  Sometimes  the  water  came  up  to  the  girths 
of  the  saddles ;  sometimes  it  even  reached  the  belts  of  the 
soldiers.  Monsieur  de  Revel's  squadrons  ranged  themselves 
upon  the  shore,  ready  to  leave  at  the  first  signal. 

Toward  the  middle  of  the  river  a  cuirassier  suddenly 
lost  footing  and  disappeared  with  the  current ;  a  little  later 
it  was  the  turn  of  a  garde  du  corps.  Ten  steps  farther  on 
the  horse  of  a  volunteer  rolled  over  in  the  water,  the  river 
passed  ovar  them,  and  nothing  more  was  seen  of  them. 

"Forward!"  cried  Monsieur  de  Pomereux. 

"Forward!"  repeated  the  gentlemen,  with  swords  raised. 

"Eh!"  said  Grippard,  "I  believe  that  we  are  one  against 
twenty,  and  they  have  the  position  in  their  favor. ' ' 


THE  RHINE.  347 

"Advance  first  and  count  after;  does  that  child  in  front 
of  us  think  of  it?"  replied  Deroute,  pointing  with  his 
finger  to  the  Chevalier  de  Vendome  who  was  pricking  his 
horse  with  his  sword  to  make  him  swim  more  rapidly. 

The  Chevalier  de  Vendome  was  then  seventeen  years  of 
age.  Grippard  was  ashamed  of  his  observation,  and  imi- 
tated the  chevalier.  At  sight  of  that  little  troop  which 
was  advancing  boldly  against  them,  tLe  three  Dutch 
squadrons  descended  toward  the  river  and  entered  the 
water  up  to  their  stirrups.  At  this  moment  the  Prince  de 
Conde  made  a  sign,  and  Monsieur  de  Revel  plunged  into 
the  Rhine  at  the  head  of  the  cuirassiers.  The  river  was 
three-fourths  crossed;  the  passage  was  no  longer  a 
problem. 

"He  is  a  valiant  soldier,  and  if  he  is  not  killed,  we  will 
present  him  to  the  king,"  said  the  Prince  de  Conde  to 
Monsieur  de  Luxembourg. 

Belle-Rose  and  the  brave  young  men  who  accompanied 
him  were  not  frightened  at  the  difference  in  numbers. 
Urging  on  their  horses,  they  resolutely  met  the  enemy 
with  cries  of,  "Vive  le  roi!"  Their  pistols  being  wet,  the 
sword  alone  remained  to  them ;  but  they  handled  it  like 
men  of  courage.  For  a  moment  one  might  have  believed 
that  this  handful  of  men  was  going  to  be  annihilated  by 
those  three  squadrons.  But  there  happened  what  often 
happens  in  these  perilous  circumstances — the  audacity  of 
one  side  intimidated  the  other.  The  Dutch  fired  a  volley 
and  disbanded  at  once.  The  horses'  feet  planted  them- 
selves upon  the  shore,  and  the  forty  cavaliers  rushed  upon 
the  enemy.  There  was  a  hand-to-hand  contest,  and  the 
melee  became  terrible. 

"We  are  between  water  and  fire!"  said  Deroute,  whose 
kindly  face  was  red  with  joy. 

"Well,  we  will  sooner  succeed  in  extinguishing  one  than 
in  drinking  the  other,"  answered  Monsieur  de  Pomereux, 
who  charged  in  the  very  thick  of  the  squadrons. 

The  Tower  of  Tolhus,  which  had  disdained  to  fire  upon 
Belle-Rose  and  his  troop,  opened  fire  upon  Monsieur  de 
Revel's  cuirassiers,  who  were  followed  by  two  squadrons 
of  Monsieur  de  Pilois  and  two  others  of  Monsieur  de 
Bligny.  The  balls  and  the  mitraille  spattered  the  water ; 
at  every  moment  a  cavalier  disappeared  in  the  river.  The 
horses  pranced  in  the  Rhine,  lost  footing,  and  fell  into 
currents  in  which  they  were  ingulfed;  the  ranks  were 
broken,  the  cavaliers  rode  at  hazard,  with  eyes  upon  the 
melee  taking  place  upon  the  opposite  shore ;  the  river  was 


348  THE  EHINE. 

covered  with  floating  corpses,  with  wounded  men  who 
stretched  their  arms  toward  the  sky,  with  abandoned 
flags,  with  horses  which  were  struggling  in  the  agony  of 
death.  The  Chevalier  de  Sallas,  struck  by  a  ball,  fell  from 
his  saddle  and  disappeared  under  the  surface  of  the  foam- 
ing Rhine ;  Comte  de  Nogent's  horse,  having  fallen  back 
upon  its  master,  drew  him  into  the  abyss,  and  the  current 
carried  them  both  away.  A  ball  kills  the  horse  of  a  cornet 
of  cuirassiers,  Monsieur  de  Brasalay;  the  valiant  young 
man  leaps  into  the  river  and  swims  with  one  hand,  carry- 
ing his  standard  with  the  other.  Monsieur  de  Pomereux, 
who  sees  him,  re-enters  the  river,  aids  him  to  gain  the 
shore,  and  returns  to  the  combat.  Meanwhile  the  cuiras- 
siers arrive  one  after  the  other;  Monsieur  de  Eevel, 
wounded  and  bleeding,  animates  the  soldiers,  rallies  them 
and  bears  down  upon  the  Dutch,  who  already  broken  and 
discouraged,  scattered  in  all  directions.  Deroute  had  drank 
blood  even  to  the  guard  of  his  sword.  Belle-Rose  rode 
straight  on  without  faltering.  Cornelius  and  Grippard 
smote  hip  and  thigh.  Monsieur  de  Naucrais  had  passed 
with  Monsieur  de  Revel's  cuirassiers,  and  in  a  bound  had 
rejoined  Belle-Rose.  Monsieur  de  Pomereux  pursued  the 
fugitives,  whom  he  struck  with  the  handle  of  his  sword. 

"Eh!  rascals!  turn  so  we  can  see  your  faces,"  he  cried, 
half  serious,  half  laughing. 

The  Dutch  rallied  behind  the  hedges  and  palisades, 
which  space  Lieutenant  de  Montbas  had  occupied  with 
infantry.  The  trumpet  was  sounded,  and  the  soldiers,  a 
moment  dispersed,  ranged  themselves  around  their 
guidons.  There  were  before  the  French  squadrons  four  or 
five  thousand  men  protected  by  numerous  ditches  and 
other  means  of  defense ;  before  attacking  them,  it  would 
at  least  be  necessary  to  place  themselves  in  order  of  battle. 
The  cannon  of  the  batteries  constructed  upon  the  right 
shore  of  the  Rhine  shelled  the  Tower  of  Tolhus  and  pro- 
tected the  passage  of  the  reinforcements.  The  Prince  de 
Conde  threw  himself  into  a  bark  along  with  the  Due  de 
Luxembourg,  the  Due  d'Enghien,  and  the  Due  de  Longue- 
ville;  their  horses  swam  behind  them.  Two  entire  regi- 
ments of  cavalry  had  just  entered  the  river.  When  the 
Prince  de  Conde  and  the  gentlemen  of  his  suite  arrived 
upon  the  shore  strewn  with  dead  bodies,  the  squadrons  of 
Messieurs  de  Revel,  de  Pilois,  and  de  Bligny  were  in  con- 
flict with  parties  of  the  enemy  who  had  left  their  entrench- 
ments to  sustain  the  fugitives.  The  Prince  de  Conde  and 
the  Duo  de  Luxembourg  placed  swords  in  their  hands,  and 


THE  KHINE.  349 

as  in  the  time  when  they  made  war  together  against  Mon- 
sieur de  Turenne  in  Flanders,  they  threw  themselves  upon 
the  enemy.  The  fever  of  combat  had  seized  them.  When 
they  were  seen  coming  cries  of  enthusiasm  rose  from 
the  ranks  of  the  French  cavaliers.  The  Chevalier  de  Ven- 
dome  pounced  upon  a  Dutch  officer,  killed  him  with  a 
sword  thrust,  took  his  flag,  and,  armed  with  this  trophy, 
continued  his  bold  course;  the  Marquis  d'Aubasson  wished 
to  follow  him  and  fell,  struck  in  the  heart  by  a  ball ;  the 
Due  de  Longueville  leaped  over  his  dying  body  and  placed 
himself  in  the  first  rank.  Monsieur  de  Naucrais,  Belle- 
Kose,  Cornelius,  and  Deroute  formed  a  wedge  which 
opened  the  Dutch  Army  with  the  irresistible  force  of  a 
battering-ram.  Monsieur  de  Pomereux  was  everywhere  at 
the  same  time,  choosing  his  adversaries  and  improvising 
here  and  there  duels  in  the  midst  of  the  combat.  When  a 
movement  was  made  in  any  direction,  Belle-Rose  quitted 
his  friends,  ran  where  the  danger  was,  and  maintained  the 
superiority  acquired  at  the  beginning  of  the  action.  He 
had  at  the  same  time  the  bravery  of  the  soldier  and  the 
glance  of  the  chief ;  he  was  followed  with  enthusiasm  and 
obeyed  with  a  blind  confidence.  The  Tower  of  Tolhus  soon 
ceased  its  fire ;  it  was  dismantled  and  conquered.  The  two 
batteries  of  the  Prince  de  Conde  turned  their  smoking 
cannon  toward  the  plain,  where  the  Dutch  were  to  be  per- 
ceived behind  their  hedges  and  palisades.  The  impulse 
was  given ;  it  was  now  beyond  the  power  of  the  chief s  to 
stop  it ;  to  tell  the  truth,  not  one  cf  them  thought  of  it, 
and  far  from  wishing  to  restrain  their  troops,  they  would 
have  urged  them  on  if  there  had  been  any  need  to  do  so. 
The  princes  of  the  blood  themselves  fought  like  officers  of 
fortune.  The  presence  of  the  Prince  de  Conde,  of  his  son 
the  Due  d'Enghien,  of  the  Due  de  Luxembourg,  of  the 
young  Due  de  Longueville,  communicated  an  incredible 
ardor  to  the  soldiers  who  had  just  so  audaciously  crossed 
the  Rhine.  No  attention  was  paid  to  the  musketry  which 
decimated  their  ranks,  and  they  arrived  pell-mell  at  the 
barriers,  the  best  mounted  in  front,  the  others  behind. 
The  Dutch  officers  had  succeeded  in  re-establishing  a  little 
order  among  their  troops,  who  imagined  that  the  whole 
French  army  was  upon  them ;  the  cavaliers,  rallied  behind 
the  first  ditch,  made  use  of  the  pistol.  A  ball  carried  away 
Monsieur  de  Pomereux's  hat,  who  saluted  with  his  sword. 
"Behold  a  lesson  in  politeness  for  which  I  must  thank 
these  gentlemen,"  said  he,  and  applied  a  dig  of  the  spur 
to  his  horse,  who  neighed  with  pain  and  leaped  the  ditch. 


350  THE  RHINE. 

Thirty  or  forty  gentlemen,  among  whom  were  the  Prince 
de  Conde  and  the  Due  d'Enghien,  fell  sword  in  hand  upon 
a  hody  of  Dutch  cavaliers.  These  cavaliers  welcomed  them 
with  musket-shots.  Belle-Rose,  just  at  the  moment  when 
the  guns  were  lowered,  threw  himself  before  the  Prince 
de  Conde  and  shielded  him  with  his  body.  The  balls  whis- 
tled, and  Belle-Rose's  horse,  which  he  had  forced  to  rear, 
was  shot  dead.  Three  or  four  gentlemen  rolled  from  the 
saddle,  and  the  sword  escaped  from  the  hands  of  the 
Prince  de  Conde.  A  stray  ball  had  broken  his  arm.  Near 
him,  the  Marquis  de  La  Force  fell  under  the  feet  of  the 
horses.  Belle-Rose  picked  up  the  Prince's  sword  and 
returned  it  to  him. 

"Give  it  to  me!"  exclaimed  the  prince,  who  seized  it 
with  his  left  hand,  "and  let  us  show  this  mob  that  steel  is 
superior  to  lead," 

Passing  over  the  dead  body  of  the  Marquis  de  La  Force, 
he  charged  the  Dutch,  who  took  to  flight.  At  the  end  of 
fifty  steps  the  barriers  were  reached,  soldiers  and  gentle- 
men, conquerors  and  conquered,  cavaliers  and  foot 
soldiers,  being  all  mixed  together.  Monsieur  de  Naucrais 
had  given  his  horse  to  Monsieur  de  Luxembourg,  who  had 
lost  his.  Deroute,  seeing  his  two  chiefs  on  foot,  descended 
from  the  saddle.  Monsieur  de  Pomereux,  who  had  taken 
possession  of  a  flag,  fought  by  the  side  of  the  Due  de 
Longueville,  and  was  half  the  length  of  a  horse  in  advance 
of  him.  The  young  duke  endeavored  to  reach  the  barrier 
before  the  count. 

"At  Versailles,  I  would  give  way  to  you,  my  dear  duke," 
Monsieur  de  Pomereux  said  to  him,  "but  we  have  left 
etiquette  on  the  other  side  of  the  Rhine." 

As  he  was  speaking,  the  Dutch  infantry  took  aim  at  the 
troop.  At  sight  of  that  long  file  of  glittering  muskets, 
Deroute  leaped  like  a  lion  upon  Monsieur  de  Naucrais  and 
Belle-Rose  and  bent  them  down  with  an  irresistible  force. 

"Lower  yourself!"  cried  he,  in  a  thundering  voice  to  the 
Comte  de  Pomereux,  who  was  touching  the  palisades. 

"A  gentleman  does  not  lower  himself!"  replied  Monsieur 
de  Pomereux. 

Monsieur  de  Longueville  had  joined  him,  and  they  were 
proceeding  in  front.  The  discharge  burst.  A  wind  of 
death  passed  over  the  troop  and  caused  the  boldest  to  fall. 
Monsieur  de  Longueville  and  Monsieur  de  Pomereux's 
horses  leaped  the  palisade,  and  the  two  brave  young  men, 
struck  at  the  same  time,  rolled  into  the  Dutch  ranks. 
Belle-Rose  and  Monsieur  de  Naucrais  rose  in  the  midst  of 


THE  RHINE.  351 

a  cloud  of  smoke  and  were  the  first  to  enter  the  barrier. 
The  Dutch  lost  footing  on  all  sides ;  many  of  them  were 
left  dead  or  wounded  upon  the  square ;  the  greater  num- 
ber surrendered.  Two  regiments  of  cavalry  took  posses- 
sion of  the  enemy's  abandoned  camp.  Monsieur  de  Luxem- 
bourg fixed  his  piercing  glance  upon  the  horizon,  where, 
in  the  golden  vapors  of  the  evening,  were  to  be  seen  the 
steeples  of  ten  cities. 

"Utrecht  is  ours,"  said  he. 

Meanwhile  Belle-Eose,  no  longer  seeing  any  enemies  be- 
fore him,  retraced  his  steps.  A  group  of  gentlemen,  black- 
ened by  powder  and  covered  with  blood,  surrounded  a 
litter,  upon  which  rested  a  dead  body.  Among  these 
gentlemen  were  the  Prince  de  Conde,  the  Due  d'Enghien 
and  the  Chevalier  de  Vendome;  the  young  chevalier  wept 
like  a  child  after  having  fought  like  a  soldier,  the  Due 
d'Enghien  let  great  tears  roll  down  his  cheeks,  and  the 
Prince  de  Conde  dried  his  eyes  with  a  mutilated  hand.  The 
livid  and  blood-stained  head  of  the  Due  de  Longueville 
rested  upon  a  bed  of  flags.  Upon  his  pale  face  was  still  to 
be  seen  the  ardent  and  proud  expression  of  his  young 
courage.  Death  had  surprised  him  at  the  moment  of  tri- 
umph. He  had  fallen,  like  an  oak  struck  by  the  thunder- 
bolt, at  a  single  blow.  Those  among  the  gentlemen  who 
were  wounded  raised  themselves  to  say  a  last  adieu  to  him 
whom  the  future  surrounded  with  so  many  hopes  and  who 
was  now  but  a  lifeless  form ;  the  living  formed  for  him  a 
mournful  and  sad  cortege.  Belle-Rose  suddenly  recollected 
the  cry  of  Deroute,  and  not  seeing  Monsieur  de  Pomereux 
among  the  officers  of  the  prince,  he  was  afraid.  He  rushed 
in  the  direction  in  which  he  had  seen  the  count  disappear 
in  a  cloud  of  smoke  and  fire,  and  found  the  sergeant  sus- 
taining Monsieur  de  Pomereux  in  his  arms.  A  surgeon, 
whom  Cornelius  had  gone  to  seek,  was  probing  his  wounds. 

"Hey!  come  here,"  the  count  said  to  him,  in  a  failing 
voice,  "I  feared  to  die  without  having  pressed  your  hand." 

When  Belle-Rose  was  at  his  side,  Monsieur  de  Pomereux 
repulsed  the  surgeon's  hand. 

"I  am  pierced  through  and  through,"  he  said  to  him; 
"you  well  know  that  there  is  no  longer  any  hope,  there- 
fore, monsieur,  do  not  worry  any  more." 

The  surgeon  dried  his  instruments  and  went  away  with- 
out saying  a  word. 

"That  is  an  answer,"  said  the  count,  with  a  smile. 

He  embraced  Belle-Rose  and  Cornelius,  extended  his 
hand  to  Deroute  and  made  ready  to  die.  His  head  rested 


352  A  KAY  OP  SUNSHINE. 

upon  a  drum.  The  sun  was  sinking  toward  the  horizon ; 
rosy  clouds  floated  in  the  luminous  sky  and  were  chased 
by  a  warm  wind.  Monsieur  de  Pomereux's  eyes  seemed  to 
seek  there  a  fugitive  image ;  a  sweet  serenity  was  spread 
over  his  features ;  the  reflection  of  a  happy  thought  could 
be  read  upon  them. 

"It  seems  to  me  that  death  is  an  awakening, "  said  he, 
"it  unites  those  whom  life  has  separated." 

His  eyes  lost  their  luster;  he  murmured  the  name  of 
Gabrielle  and  died.  At  this  moment  a  thousand  cries  rose 
from  all  sides,  the  drums  beat  in  the  fields,  the  cavaliers 
shook  their  hats  which  were  stuck  to  the  ends  of  their 
swords  and  the  clarions  sounded.  Louis  XIV.  was  passing 
the  Rhine. 


CHAPTER  LII. 

A    RAY    OF    SUNSHINE. 

The  Rhine  was  crossed.  "When  night  came,  the  French 
army  camped  upon  the  right  shore;  before  it  extended  the 
great  plains  of  Holland.  Victory  had  crowned  its  first 
efforts.  The  soldiers,  animated  by  the  ardor  of  combat, 
grouped  themselves  around  the  bivouac  fires  and  related 
to  each  other  the  incidents  of  this  day.  A  crowd  of  officers 
thronged  around  the  habitation  of  Louis  XIV.  In  the  in- 
toxication excited  by  this  passage,  the  glorious  monarch 
already  saw  the  presage  of  his  entrance  into  Amsterdam. 
He  did  not  know  that  between  him  and  the  old  capital  of 
Holland  he  would  find  William  of  Orange.  The  generals 
came  to  present  their  compliments  to  the  king  and  to  take 
his  orders.  The  halls  were  filled  with  brilliant  uniforms ; 
the  best  gentlemen  of  France  were  there ;  some  failed  the 
reunion — these  were  dead.  Everybody  had  traversed  the 
Rhine,  but  no  one  yet  knew  how  it  had  been  passed.  A 
man  had  thrown  himself  into  the  river,  a  company  had 
followed  him,  then  a  regiment,  then  the  army,  and  they 
had  arrived,  sword  in  hand,  at  the  Dutch  entrenchments. 

"Do  you  know,  messieurs,  the  name  of  the  gentleman 
who  found  the  ford?"  said  the  king,  addressing  himself  to 
the  circle  who  surrounded  him. 

"Sire, "  replied  Monsieur  de  Luxembourg,  "it  is  an  officer 
of  your  army;  but  this  officer  is  not  a  gentleman." 

"But,"  proudly  answered  Louis  XIV.,  "if  I  call  him 
thus,  it  is  apparently  because  he  ought  to  be  one." 


A  BAY  OF  SUNSHINE.  353 

Monsieur  de  Luxembourg  bowed. 

"His  name?"  added  the  king. 

"Belle-Rose." 

"To  what  regiment  does  he  belong?" 

"To  the  regiment  of  La  Ferte,  artillery.'* 

Louis  XIV.  meditated  a  moment. 

"It  is  not,"  he  resumed,  presently,  "the  first  time  that  I 
have  heard  this  officer  spoken  of." 

"No,  sire,  I  have  had  the  honor  to  converse  with  Your 
Majesty  concerning  an  affair  in  which  he  is  interested." 

"Ah!  I  recollect!  Is  it  not  a  question  of  the  firing  of  a 
convent  and  the  abduction  of  a  nun?" 

"No,  sire.  Persons  who  hate  Belle-Rose  because  he  is 
devoted  to  me  have  misrepresented  facts  to  Your  Majesty. 
Belle-Rose  has  delivered  his  fiancee  who  had  been  placed 
in  a  cloister  against  her  will,  and  he  has  made  her  his 
wife  as  soon  as  she  was  free." 

Louis  XIV.  knew  admirably  his  trade  of  king ;  he  posed 
eternally  before  the  court,  before  Europe,  and  before  him- 
self. An  occasion  presented  itself  to  accomplish  an  act  of 
justice  in  favor  of  an  officer  who  had  bravely  done  his 
duty,  and  to  whom  the  army  owed  its  first  victory ;  his 
pardon  was  then,  take  it  all  in  all,  an  act  of  public  repara- 
tion, emanating  from  the  throne,  and  which  made  royalty 
play  the  role  of  Providence  which  rewards  the  good. 
Louis  XIV.  took  advantage  of  the  occasion. 

"It  is  well,"  said  he;  "the  officer  who  has  fought  so  well 
under  my  eyes  cannot  be  guilty.  To-morrow  you  will 
bring  him  to  us." 

A  flattering  murmur  traversed  the  circle  of  courtiers, 
and  the  king  could  read  upon  all  faces  the  expression  of  a 
lively  pleasure.  Belle-Rose,  warned  by  Monsieur  de  Lux- 
embourg, held  himself  in  readiness  to  appear  before  the 
king.  It  was  the  first  time  that  he  was  going  to  find  him- 
self in  the  presence  of  a  sovereign  whose  name  filled 
Europe  with  fear,  and  if  his  heart  did  not  beat  much  at 
the  moment  of  a  battle,  it  beat  very  strongly  when  he  fol- 
lowed the  duke  to  the  royal  residence.  That  air  of  majesty 
which  Louis  XIV.  always  wore  dazzled  Belle-Rose ;  he  bent 
his  knee  and  waited  in  a  respectful  silence. 

"Rise,  monsieur,"  the  king  said  to  him ;  "you  conducted 
yourself  well  yesterday,  and  we  wish,  in  order  to  reward 
your  good  services,  that  every  trace  of  the  past  should  be 
effaced.  What  you  have  been  you  are  no  more;  you  will 
know  at  Paris  what  I  have  made  of  you." 

"At  Paris  1"  exclaimed  Monsieur  de  Luxembourg.  "Does 


354  A  BAY  OF  SUNSHINE. 

Your  Majesty  recollect  that  Monsieur  de  Louvois  hates 
Belle-Rose?" 

"Perhaps  you  should  have  forgotten  it,  monsieur  le  due, 
and  only  recollect  what  protects  him,"  replied  the  king. 
"As  to  you,  monsieur,"  added  he,  transferring  his  looks 
to  Belle-Rose,  "you  are  going  to  leave  at  once  for  Paris;  I 
have  charged  you  with  informing  Monsieur  de  Louvois  of 
the  first  sucesses  of  our  campaign.  The  dispatches  will  be 
sealed  and  handed  you  by  an  officer  of  our  household.  Go 
and  return,  monsieur;  your  place  is  among  us." 

No  one  in  the  kingdom  could  be  more  seducing  and 
fascinating  than  Louis  XIV.  when  he  wished  to  be ;  grace 
and  dignity  were  allied  in  him  in  an  equal  proportion,  and 
he  had  naturally  that  nobility  which  lends  value  to  the 
least  things. 

"Sire,"  exclaimed  Belle-Rose,  "you  have  returned  to  me 
that  place  in  the  army  in  which  I  have  fought  for  Your 
Majesty;  my  life  is  yours." 

An  hour  after  this  interview  Belle-Rose  received  the 
dispatches  and  mounted  a  post-chaise,  after  having  bade 
farewell  to  Monsieur  de  Luxembourg  and  Monsieur  de 
Naucrais.  Deroute  was  with  him.  Cornelius  staid  behind 
with  Pierre.  The  rendezvous  was  before  Utrecht.  If  De- 
route  had  not  been  able  to  quit  Belle-Rose,  Grippard,  on 
his  side,  had  not  been  able  to  separate  himself  from 
Deroute.  The  latter  was  groom,  the  former  was  postilion ; 
when  they  were  together,  there  was  no  longer  either  cor- 
poral or  sergeant ;  they  were  like  shadow  and  body.  They 
made  great  haste  to  cross  the  distance  which  extends  from 
the  banks  of  the  Rhine  to  Paris.  Though  Belle-Rose  re- 
turned there  under  conditions  as  excellent  as  he  could  wish 
for,  he  was  seized  by  an  invincible  sadness,  and  though  he 
made  every  effort  to  chase  it  away,  it  always  returned  to 
extend  itself  like  a  vail  over  his  mind.  The  death  of  Mon- 
sieur de  Pomereux  counted  for  much  in  this  sadness.  That 
brave  gentleman  had  given  him  so  many  proofs  of  a 
chivalric  devotion,  that  Belle-Rose  had  conceived  a  sincere 
friendship  for  him.  Nevertheless  he  did  not  recall  that 
the  death  of  Monsieur  d'Assonville  had  filled  him  with 
such  a  great  depression ;  he  had  experienced  from  it  a  pro- 
found and  lasting  grief,  but  not  that  sort  of  uneasiness 
which  he  could  not  surmount.  He  reached  the  point  of 
thinking  it  a  presentiment,  and  his  melancholy  increased. 
The  firmest  characters  are  subject  to  fits  of  depression 
which  are  inexplicable  but  nevertheless  powerful.  Belle- 
Rose,  however,  was  one  of  those  who  sacrificed  everything 


A  RAY  OF  SUNSHINE.  355 

to  the  accomplishment  of  a  duty;  he  left  St.  Claire 
d'Ennery  to  his  right  and  pushed  straight  on  to  Paris. 
The  chaise,  preceded  by  Deroute,  entered  the  court  of 
Monsieur  de  Louvois'  hotel.  Belle-Rose  descended  from  it, 
and  asked  an  usher  to  introduce  him  into  the  minister's 
presence. 

"His  Excellency  is  engaged  with  Monsieur  de  Charny, " 
the  usher  said  to  him. 

"Say,  then,  to  His  Excellency  that  it  is  on  the  part  of 
His  Majesty  Louis  XIV.,"  replied  Belle-Rose. 

At  this  sacred  name  the  usher  disappeared  and  returned 
soon  after. 

"Whom  must  I  announce?"  said  he. 

"Captain  Belle-Rose." 

At  this  name,  Monsieur  de  Louvois  trembled  like  a  lion 
surprised  in  his  lair. 

"Captain  Belle-Rose!"  he  repeated,  covering  the  offlcei 
•with  his  sparkling  glance.  "You  are  very  imprudent, 
monsieur,  to  come  here." 

"I  do  not  think  so,  monseigneur, "  said  Belle-Rose, 
coldly. 

"Have  you  lost  your  memory,  and  must  I  recall  to  you 
that  we  have  an  account  to  settle  together. ' ' 

"It  would  be  more  appropriate,  I  believe,  to  speak  of  the 
affair  which  brings  me.  Have  you  not  been  told,  monseig- 
neur, that  I  come  on  the  part  of  His  Majesty  the  King?" 

Monsieur  de  Louvois  frowned. 

"The  king  is  in  Holland,  monsieur,"  replied  he. 

"I  come  from  there,  monseigneur,  and  here  are  the  dis- 
patches which  His  Majesty  has  confided  to  me." 

Belle-Rose  drew  the  package  from  his  pocket  and  handed 
it  to  the  minister.  Monsieur  de  Louvois,  thoroughly  aston- 
ished, took  it  without  reply  and  opened  it.  Monsieur  de 
Charny  was  standing  in  the  embrasure  of  a  window,  silent 
and  attentive.  On  reading  the  dispatch  which  announced 
the  passage  of  the  Rhine,  the  man  gave  way  to  the  min- 
ister. Monsieur  de  Louvois  rose  with  a  radiant  countenance. 

"Holland  is  open!"  he  exclaimed,  "ten  cities  conquered 
and  the  Rhine  crossed  in  a  month !  The  republic  must  be 
effaced  from  the  rank  of  nations." 

"You  were  at  this  passage,  monsieur,"  resumed  he,  ad- 
dressing himself  to  Belle-Rose. 

"Yes,  monseigneur." 

"Emmerich  and  Retz  are  ours." 

"Monsieur  de  Luxembourg  has  conquered  them;  the 
army  is  marching  upon  Utrecht." 


356  A  KAY  OF  SUNSHINE- 

"Utrecht  will  betaken." 

"I  know  it." 

"Of  all  Holland,  only  Amsterdam  will  be  left." 

"Amsterdam  and  William  of  Orange." 

"They  will  be  conquered,  monsieur." 

"I  hope  so,  monseigneur. " 

Monsieur  de  Louvois  spoke  with  enthusiasm,  walking 
from  one  end  of  the  room  to  the  other ;  all  at  once  he 
stopped  before  Belle-Rose;  the  expression  of  triumph 
slowly  disappeared  from  his  face.  In  his  turn  the  minister 
gave  way  to  the  man. 

"The  affairs  of  the  kingdom  are  ended;  I  imagine,  mon- 
sieur, that  we  can  pass  to  yours, "  said  he. 

"You  have  not  read  all,  monseigneur, "  replied  Belle- 
Rose,  indicating  with  his  finger  a  sealed  paper  which  he 
had  drawn  from  the  dispatch. 

Monsieur  de  Louvois  broke  the  seal  and  ran  over  the 
paper.  His  face,  just  now  purple-colored,  became  livid ;  he 
fell,  rather  than  sat  down,  upon  his  fauteuil.  Monsieur  de 
Charny  quitted  the  window  and  came  to  him. 

"Read,"  the  minister  said  to  him. 

Monsieur  de  Charny  terminated  his  reading  without  his 
impassible  countenance  having  expressed  any  emotion. 
While  he  was  running  over  the  dispatch,  Monsieur  de 
Louvois  turned  to  Belle-Rose. 

"Go,  monsieur,  into  the  other  room,"  he  said,  in  a  voice 
trembling  with  anger;  "in  a  moment  you  will  see  me." 

Belle-Rose  saluted  and  went  out. 

"Well!"  exclaimed  the  minister,  as  soon  as  the  door  was 
closed. 

"Well,  we  are  conquered,  monseigneur,"  said  Monsieur 
de  Charny. 

"Colonel  and  vicomte  with  the  title  of  Malzonvilliers ! 
All  the  honors  together!" 

Monsieur  de  Louvois  shivered  from  head  to  foot,  and  his 
lips  were  white. 

"Why  did  you  let  him  fly?"  he  exclaimed,  suddenly  and 
violently. 

"This  man  is  an  eel,  you  know,  monseigneur, "  replied 
Monseiur  de  Charny.  "I  have  had  him  sought  for  at  Paris, 
in  the  environs,  everywhere ;  he  had  disappeared  without 
leaving  any  trace.  As  to  the  army,  it  is  an  ocean." 

"He  has  braved  me  to  my  face,  I  held  him  in  my  power, 
and  he  escapes  me.  She,  too,  escapes  me." 

"The  marquise,  of  whom  the  king's  good  pleasure  makes 
a  vicomtesse — is  she  not  still  at  St.  Claire  d'Emiery?" 


A  KAY  OF  SUNSHINE.  357 

"Were  she  in  the  middle  of  the  Place  Royale,  the  king's 
authority  protects  her." 

"Oh,  there  is  the  chapter  of  accidents, "  replied  Mon- 
sieur de  Charny. 

Monsieur  de  Louvois  shivered ;  the  manner  in  which  his 
confidant  pronounced  these  words  gave  them  a  clear  and 
terrible  sense. 

"Certes,  I  can  do  nothing  when  it  comes  to  chance, " 
said  the  minister  in  a  low  tone. 

A  sinister  smile  lit  up  the  face  of  Monsieur  de  Charny. 

"It  is  a  blind  power,"  said  the  confidant,  "and  you  are 
a  clear-sighted  minister." 

"Vicomte  de  Malzonvilliers!"  murmured  Monsieur  de 
Louvois,  "colonel!  master  at  present  of  the  court's  favor! 
This  is  indeed  the  king's  handwriting.  He  wishes  to  push 
him  and  to  charge  himself  with  his  fortune." 

The  minister  read  again  five  or  six  times  the  lines  traced 
by  the  royal  hand. 

"Monsieur  de  Charny,"  said  he,  turning  with  an  im- 
perative air  to  the  pale  gentleman,  "accident  is  powerless 
as  to  him." 

"Powerless  to-day,"  replied  the  favorite,  coldly.  "He 
is  at  your  home." 

Monsieur  de  Louvois  rang  and  ordered  Belle-Rose 
brought  back. 

"His  Majesty  wishes  you  well,  monsieur,  on  account  of 
your  gallant  conduct  in  Holland,  and  notably  at  the 
passage  of  the  Rhine, "  the  minister  said  to  him.  "You 
are  a  colonel ;  you  must  be  impatient  to  carry  this  news  to 
St.  Claire  d'Ennery,  but  before  returning  you  your  liberty, 
permit  me  to  ask  of  you  a  new  service." 

"Speak,  monseigneur. " 

"You  have  assisted  at  this  last  victory  of  His  Majesty, 
you  have  even  taken  a  great  part  in  it ;  more  than  any 
other  you  are  in  position  to  draw  up  the  statement  which 
I  propose  to  send  to  the  governors  of  the  provinces.  It 
must  leave  soon;  seat  yourself  there  and  begin." 

Belle-Rose  had  no  motive  for  refusing ;  he  took  the  place 
indicated  by  Monsieur  de  Louvois,  and  prepared  to  write. 

"Meanwhile,"  said  the  minister,  "if  you  have  some 
letter  to  address  to  your  wife,  write  it,  and  it  will  be  car- 
ried to  her  at  once." 

Belle-Rose  accepted  the  proposition.  While  he  was 
tracing  some  words  in  haste,  Monsieur  de  Charny 's  eyes 
followed  the  rapid  movements  of  his  hand  with  a  diaboli- 
cal expression.  When  the  letter  was  sealed,  a  strange 


358  THE  RUE  DE  L'ABBRE-SEC. 

smile  wandered  over  his  lips.  Monsieur  de  Louvois  took 
the  letter,  and  Monsieur  de  Charny  went  out.  A  moment 
after  a  lackey  presented  himself  with  Belle-Rose's  note. 
Monsieur  de  Charny,  who  was  watching  in  the  anteroom, 
walked  up  tp  the  lackey. 

"Give  me  that  letter;  I  charge  myself  with  it,"  said  he. 

The  lackey,  who  knew  Monsieur  de  Charny,  handed  it 
to  him  without  hesitation.  Deroute  and  Grippard  had  re- 
mained in  the  court,  waiting  for  the  return  of  Belle-Rose. 
Deroute  wore  an  air  of  triumph ;  he  went  and  came  with 
the  pride  of  a  captain  in  that  court  where  some  time  pre- 
vious he  had  wandered  about  under  a  thousand  disguises. 
He  would  have  willingly  related  the  exploits  of  his  master 
to  every  person  he  came  across,  and  he  looked  people  in 
the  face  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  feels  himself  protected 
by  the  favor  of  the  king.  As  to  Grippard,  he  had  sat  down 
upon  a  block  of  stone  and  gone  to  sleep  in  the  sunshine. 
An  hour  after  Monsieur  de  Charny  appeared  in  the  court. 
Deroute  still  wore  his  triumphant  air;  from  time  to  time 
he  looked  at  Grippard  and  shrugged  his  shoulders,  think- 
ing him  a  man  who  had  no  sentiment  of  his  dignity.  At 
sight  of  Monsieur  de  Charny,  Deroute  frowned,  but  it 
seemed  to  him  that  this  man  thrice  conquered  was  not 
worthy  of  his  hatred,  and  he  smiled  with  a  magnificent 
air.  Monsieur  de  Charny  paid  no  attention  to  Deroute  and 
leaped  into  a  carriage  which  had  been  prepared  for  him. 

"Barriere  St.  Denis,"  said  he. 

The  team  left  at  a  rapid  trot. 


CHAPTER  LIIL 

THE  RUE  DE  I/ARBRE-SEC. 

Meanwhile,  at  the  end  of  an  hour  or  two's  waiting,  De- 
route  began  to  find  the  time  very  long.  Belle- Rose's  delay 
in  reappearing  seemed  inexplicable  to  him;  he  made 
twenty  times  the  tour  of  the  court,  awoke  Grippard  two 
or  three  times  to  distract  himself,  but  Grippard  had  no 
sooner  opened  his  eyes  than  he  closed  them  again ;  finally, 
no  longer  restraining  himself,  he  took  the  part  of  mount- 
ing himself  to  Monsieur  de  Louvois'  apartments.  An 
usher  whom  he  questioned  informed  him  that  Belle-Rose 
was  in  the  minister's  cabinet  engaged  in  writing  the  offi- 
cial statement  of  the  passage  of  the  Rhine.  As  he  was 
coming  down  again,  almost  tranquillized,  Deroute  sud- 


THE  RUE  DE  L'AEBEE-SEO.  359 

denly  recalled  the  order  which  Monsieur  do  Charny  had 
given  on  mounting  within  the  carriage. 

"The  road  to  St.  Denis,"  he  thought,  "is  also  the  road 
to  St.  Claire  d'Ennery." 

Deroute 's  forehead  grew  somber. 

"Has  my  master  written  anything?"  he  asked  the 
usher. 

"He  has  written  a  letter,"  answered  a  lackey,  who  was 
in  the  anteroom,  and  who  was  the  same  one  whom  Mon- 
sieur de  Charny  had  stopped. 

"Where  is  this  letter?" 

"Monsieur  de  Charny  has  taken  it,  telling  me  that  he 
would  charge  himself  with  it." 

Deroute  frowned;  Monsieur  de  Charny 's  face  had,  at 
the  moment  when  that  gentleman  had  mounted  within 
the  carriage,  an  expression  of  lugubrious  gayety  which 
the  faithful  servant  recollected.  Without  knowing  why, 
he  was  afraid,  and  soon  his  own  emotion  frightened  him ; 
he  was  a  man,  we  know,  who  believed  in  presentiments 
and  submitted  to  their  influence.  When  he  was  in  the 
court  he  no  longer  resisted  his  presentiment ;  he  struck 
Grippard  with  his  fist.  Grippard,  awakened  in  surprise, 
bounded  to  his  feet. 

"When  Belle-Rose  descends,"  said  the  sergeant,  "you 
will  tell  him  that  I  have  left  for  St.  Claire  d'Ennery." 

"What  are  you  going  to  the  abbey  for?"  replied  Grip- 
pard, rubbing  his  eyes. 

"I  do  not  know,  it  is  my  idea." 

Deroute  procured  himself  a  horse  and  set  out.  Monsieur 
de  Charny  had,  as  Deroute  foresaw,  pushed  on  in  the 
direction  of  St.  Claire  d'Ennery.  At  St.  Denis  he  changed 
horses  and  gave  a  gold  louis  to  the  postilion,  for  which  he 
spurred  the  horses  vigorously.  At  half  a  league  from  the 
abbey  Monsieur  de  Charny  alighted  from  the  carriage. 
There  was  upon  the  side  of  the  road  a  hut  where  wine  and 
whisky  were  sold,  and  before  the  hut  a  kind  of  peasant 
who  was  pitching  up  sous  and  catching  them  in  his  hand. 
Monsieur  de  Charny  went  to  him. 

"Do  you  wish  to  gain  two  crowns?"  he  said  to  him. 

"Three,  if  you  permit  it,"  replied  the  peasant,  whose 
eyes  shone. 

"Come,  then,  and  do  what  I  tell  you." 

Monsieur  de  Charny  took  him  to  the  carriage,  drew 
from  it  a  basket  enveloped  in  fine  linen  and  brought 
forth  from  his  pocket  Belle-Rose's  letter. 

"You  know  where  the  Abbey  of  St.  Claire  d'Ennery 


360  THE  RUE  DE  L'AEBRE-SEC. 

is?"  said  Monsieur  de  Charny,  -with,  his  eye  upon  the 
peasant. 

"Very  well,  since  I  often  carry  vegetables  and  milk 
there." 

"Then  you  are  known  there?" 

"Perfectly." 

"You  are  going  then  to  carry  this  letter  there,  and  as 
quickly  as  you  can." 

"That  is  not  difficult,  the  distance  is  short  and  I  have 
long  legs." 

"]f  you  are  questioned,  answer  that  the  basket  and 
letter  have  been  brought  by  a  valet  whose  horse  has  fallen 
before  your  door." 

"Very  well." 

"I  have  promised  you  two  crowns " 

"I  have  understood  three,"  interrupted  the  rascal. 

"You  will  have  four  if  you  return  in  a  quarter  of  an 
hour." 

"I  shall  fly  there." 

In  eight  or  ten  minutes  the  peasant,  who  had  taken  a 
cut  across  the  fields,  reached  the  door  of  the  abbey.  The 
touriere  opened  the  door,  the  peasant  handed  her  the 
basket  and  letter,  which  were  both  to  Suzanne's  address, 
and  as  she  was  accustomed  to  seeing  him,  he  went  away 
without  being  questioned.  At  the  end  of  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  Monsieur  de  Charny  saw  him  coming  back. 

"It  is  done!"  exclaimed  the  young  peasant. 

"Here  is  your  money,"  replied  Monsieur  de  Charny, 
whose  eyes  shone  with  joy. 

He  remounted  within  his  carriage  and  took  up  again  the 
route  to  Paris.  As  he  reached  Franconville,  Deroute, 
riding  at  full  speed,  passed  like  an  arrow  by  the  side  of 
the  carriage.  Monsieur  de  Charny  leaned  out  at  the  por- 
tiere, following  with  his  eye  the  whirlwind  of  dust  which 
mounted  from  under  his  horse's  feet. 

"He  will  arrive  too  late  this  time,"  murmured  he,  when 
he  had  lost  sight  of  him. 

Deroufce  blindly  obeyed  the  secret  influence  which 
pushed  him  on;  the  rapidity  of  his  course,  instead  of 
diminishing  his  ardor,  augmented  it.  He  was  about  to 
pass  before  the  house  where  Monsieur  de  Charny  had 
stopped,  when  the  strap  to  which  the  stirrup  was  attached 
broke.  Deroute  retained  his  horse's  bridle  and  dismounted. 
The  peasant  was  still  at  his  door,  but  this  time  he  was 
pitching  up  crowns  instead  of  sous. 

"If  it  is  a  commission  which  you  have  for  the  Abbey  of  St. 


THE  RUE  DE  L'ARBRE-SEC.  361 

Claire,"  said  he  to  the  sergeant,  "you  can  give  it  to  me 
while  you  are  fixing  your  stirrup ;  I  come  from  there,  I 
will  return  there." 

"You  have  been  to  the  abbey?"  exclaimed  Deroute,  who, 
in  his  present  situation  of  mind,  attached  importance  to 
the  least  things. 

"And  it  has  brought  me  in  twenty-four  livres, "  said  the 
rascal,  pitching  up  the  white  pieces. 

Deroute  took  the  peasant  by  the  collar. 

"What  were  you  doing  at  the  abbey?"  he  exclaimed. 

"In  faith,"  said  the  frightened  rogue,  "I  carried  there  a 
basket  and  a  letter  on  the  part  of  a  gentleman  who  had 
come  in  a  carriage." 

"A  pale  little  gentleman  dressed  in  black?" 

"Precisely,  and  he  left  again  as  soon  as  the  commis- 
sion was  executed. ' ' 

"And  do  you  know  what  was  in  this  basket?" 

"It  appeared  to  me  that  it  contained  flowers  and  fruits ; 
there  came  from  it  a  delightful  perfume." 

"Flowers  and  fruits,  did  you  say?" 

"It  must  have  been  some  gallantry  shown  by  this  gen- 
tleman to  some  nun." 

Deroute  released  the  peasant,  pulled  off  the  saddle,  re- 
mounted his  beast  bareback,  and  flew  at  headlong  speed 
toward  the  abbey.  The  touriere  was  frightened  on  seeing 
him  pale  as  a  corpse  and  let  him  pass  without  saying  a 
word.  The  basket  and  letter  had  been  received  by  Madame 
de  Chateaufort,  who  had  amused  herself  by  untying  the 
linen,  while  some  one  had  gone  to  inform  Suzanne.  She 
found  tinder  the  white  vail  the  most  beautiful  flowers  and 
fruits  of  the  season.  Genevieve  took  an  orange  and  opened 
it.  She  had  recognized  Belle-Rose's  handwriting  and  did 
not  doubt  but  what  the  present  came  from  him.  Suzanne 
was  at  this  moment  at  the  other  end  of  the  garden  with 
Claudine  and  the  two  children ;  nearly  an  hour  passed  be- 
fore she  could  be  found.  When  she  came  up  she  unsealed 
Belle-Rose's  letter,  pale  and  trembling  with  emotion. 

"Oh,  my  God!  "she  exclaimed,  "he  is  victorious  and  free! 
He  has  seen  the  king,  and  the  king  has  made  him  colonel !" 

A  stream  of  tears  escaped  from  Suzanne's  eyes,  and  she 
embraced  Genevieve  and  Claudine.  Genevieve  began  to 
feel  an  intolerable  warmth  in  her  breast ;  but  joy  made 
her  forget  her  pain.  The  basket  of  flowers  and  fruits  was 
upon  a  piece  of  furniture  near  by.  A  ray  of  sunshine 
through  the  open  window  fell  upon  them,  covering  them 
with  a  golden  light.  Suzanne  caressed  them  with  her  eyes 


362  THE  RUE  DE  L'AEBRE-SEC. 

and  hand ;  she  took  a  bunch  of  roses  and  scented  them ;  a 
splendid  fruit  followed  the  roses,  and  she  was  already  car- 
rying it  to  her  lips  when  the  door  opened  violently.  De- 
route,  frightened  and  dusty,  appeared  upon  the  threshold ; 
in  a  bound  he  had  reached  Suzanne,  snatched  the  fruit 
from  her  hands,  and  sent  it  through  the  window. 

"My  God!  what  is  the  matter  with  you?"  exclaimed 
Suzanne. 

Deroute,  without  answering,  overturned  the  basket. 

"Do  not  touch  it!"  he  finally  exclaimed ;  "this  cursed 
basket  comes  from  Monsieur  de  Charny. ' ' 

This  terrible  name  caused  fright  to  pass  into  the  soul  of 
Suzanne.  Genevieve  grew  horribly  pale  and  fell  to  her 
seat.  Claudine,  who  noticed  it,  rushed  to  the  abbess. 

"Oh!  how  I  suffer!"  she  exclaimed,  with  her  hands 
clasped  to  her  breast. 

Suzanne  and  Claudine  felt  chilled  to  the  heart. 

"Water,  give  me  water,"  repeated  Genevieve;  "my 
body  is  on  fire. ' ' 

Her  face  became  livid.  Deroute  saw  upon  the  floor  the 
rind  of  an  orange  and  understood  all. 

"She  is  poisoned!"  said  he. 

Madame  de  Chateaufort  heard  him. 

"Send  for  Gaston!"  exclaimed  the  poor  mother,  who 
felt  herself  dying. 

Her  features  changed  rapidly,  she  already  had  the  leaden 
eyes  and  hollow  cheeks  of  a  woman  who  has  been  devoured 
by  fever  for  ten  days.  A  physician  was  called,  and  at  the 
first  word  he  confirmed  the  fears  of  Deroute.  Genevieve 
was  poisoned;  the  evil  had  made  irreparable  progress;  the 
most  energetic  remedies  could  scarcely  prolong  life  for 
some  hours.  The  duchess  received  the  news  with  a  pro- 
found calm. 

"A  victim  was  necessary, "  said  she,  "God  has  chosen 
me;  God  punishes  those  whom  he  loves." 

While  these  things  were  taking  place  at  St.  Claire  d'En- 
nery,  Belle  Rose  was  finishing  the  report  concerning  the 
passage  of  the  Rhine  at  Tolhus.  Monsieur  de  Louvois  was 
alone  and  delivered  to  the  serious  meditations  which  soli- 
tude gives  birth  to.  His  damned  soul,  the  pale  and  lugu- 
brious Monsieur  de  Charny,  was  no  longer  there;  the 
thoughts  of  the  minister,  a  moment  excited  by  the  somber 
words  of  that  gentleman,  had  taken  an  austere  course. 
Before  his  eyes  was  displayed  the  letter  of  Louis  XIV.,  his 
looks  could  not  detach  themselves  from  it,  and  it  seemed 
to  him  that  the  characters  were  of  fire.  The  king  had 


THE  RUE  DE  L'ARBEE-SEC.  363 

taken  Belle-Rose  under  his  protection,  and  the  king,  Mon- 
sieur de  Louvois  knew,  did  not  like  for  any  one  to  inter- 
pose himself  between  him  and  his  will.  Monsieur  de 
Louvois  asked  himself  if  it  was  worth  while  to  expose 
himself  to  a  dangerous  struggle  for  the  slender  pleasure  of 
following  his  vengeance  against  a  man  who,  take  it  all  in 
all,  was  in  the  right,  and  if  it  would  not  be  greater,  more 
worthy,  and  above  all  more  politic  to  abjure  his  projects, 
for  the  future  useless  and  perilous.  He  recollected  that 
before  all  things,  and  in  the  high  position  in  which  events 
and  his  genius  had  placed  him,  he  ought  to  be  a  states- 
man. Monsieur  de  Louvois  passed  his  hand  over  his  grave 
and  burning  forehead,  drank  some  water,  and  with  that 
strength  of  will  which  was  peculiarly  his,  enchained  his 
hatred  in  the  depth  of  his  heart.  Belle-Rose  had  finished. 
The  minister  read  the  statement  and  nodded  approval. 

"You  have  been  modest  as  well  as  brave, "  he  said  to 
him,  "it  is  for  me  to  repair  your  omissions,  and  I  will  do  it 
like  a  man  who  has  been  your  enemy.  Go,  monsieur  le 
vicomte;you  are  a  soldier  and  I  am  a  minister;  let  each  of 
us  serve  his  king  according  to  his  strength  and  his  con- 
science. Give  me  your  hand,  and  believe  me  that  you  will 
no  longer  find  me  between  you  and  fortune." 

Belle-Rose  took  the  hand  which  the  minister  extended 
to  him  and  moved  away,  if  not  captivated  by  the  man,  at 
least  full  of  admiration  for  the  minister  whose  firm  genius 
commanded  everything,  even  his  passions.  Meanwhile 
Belle-  Rose  had  left  Paris  toward  evening.  In  haste  to  see 
Suzanne  again,  and  disturbed  about  Deroute's  absence,  he 
went  at  a  rapid  pace.  Night  had  come — a  summer  night, 
clear  and  starry.  When  the  carriage  had  passed  beyond 
Pontoiso,  he  heard  the  funeral  bell  tolling  in  the  midst  of 
the  deep  silence.  The  bronze  voice  came  from  the  direc- 
tion of  St.  Claire  d'Ennery,  from  that  abbey  where  he  had 
left  all  that  which  attached  him  to  the  world.  A  cold 
sweat  bathed  the  temples  of  Belle-Rose,  and  he  ordered 
Grippard  to  apply  the  whip  to  the  horses.  The  carriage 
rolled  rapidly  on.  The  funeral  knell  buzzed  in  the  ears  of 
Belle-Rose.  This  voice  of  death  in  the  midst  of  these 
tranquil  plains  congealed  the  blood  in  his  veins.  When  he 
was  near  the  abbey  he  saw,  through  the  open  doors  nuns 
praying  in  the  chapel  and  the  silent  crowd  thronging 
under  the  somber  vault.  Belle-Rose  entered  the  abbey,  not 
knowing  what  new  misfortune  threatened  him.  When  the 
door  opened  and  he  saw  Genevieve  stretched  out  upon  her 
bed,  immovable  and  white,  Belle-Rose  understood  every- 


364  THE  RUE  DE  L'AEBRE-SEC. 

thing.  Genevieve  had  one  hand  upon  Gaston's  head  and 
•with  the  other  was  pressing  a  crucifix  to  her  lips.  At  sight 
of  Belle-Rose,  she  raised  herself.  She  made  a  sign  to 
Suzanne  to  approach,  and  took  her  hand  which  she  joined 
to  that  of  Belle-Rose  between  hers.  Her  eyes  shone  with 
a  supernatural  splendor^  and  as  she  saw  tears  in  the  eyes 
of  Belle-Rose,  she  said  to  him,  with  the  smile  of  a  martyr : 

"Do  not  weep;  it  is  the  end  of  the  expiation." 

She  leaned  toward  Suzanne  and  passed  her  arm  around 
the  young  woman's  neck. 

"I  am  going  to  die, "  she  said  to  her.  "Gaston  will  no 
longer  have  a  mother;  be  that  to  him." 

All  her  soul  appeared  in  her  eyes.  She  drew  forward 
the  sobbing  child  and  placed  him  between  Suzanne  and 
Belle-Rose.  And  then  having  embraced  all  three  turn  by 
turn,  she  fell  back,  dead.  Those  who  loved  her  remained 
all  night  praying  around  the  funeral  bed.  Never  had  so 
great  a  grief  torn  the  heart  of  Belle-Rose.  Genevieve's 
body  was  exposed  in  the  chapel  for  three  days.  When  the 
funeral  ceremony  was  over,  Belle-Rose  took  with  him 
Suzanne,  Claudine,  and  the  two  children,  and  brought 
them  back  to  the  lodge  which  they  occupied  in  the  park 
before  his  departure,  and  during  the  whole  day  they  were 
sad  and  silent.  Deroute  and  Grippard  themselves,  who 
formerly  did  not  have  enough  tongue  to  say  all  that  was 
passing  in  their  heads,  remained  mute.  Toward  evening, 
just  as  Suzanne  was  going  to  quit  the  apartment,  Belle- 
Rose  took  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her  on  the  forehead. 
He  was  grave  and  meditative. 

"Go, "  he  said  to  her,  "and  seek  some  repose.  To-morrow, 
at  daybreak,  I  will  take  you  back  to  the  hotel  in  the  Rue 
de  Rohan,  you  and  Claudine.  Your  place  is  for  the  future 
at  Paris. 

"And  yours,  Jacques?"  replied  Suzanne. 

"Mine  is  in  the  army  so  long  as  I  have  strength  left  to 
hold  a  sword.  I  shall  go  to  rejoin  Monsieur  de  Luxem- 
bourg and  Monsieur  de  Naucrais,  and  with  me  I  will  take 
Gaston." 

"What!  a  child  so  young?"  exclaimed  the  mother. 

The  child  raised  his  blonde  face  and  turned  to  Belle- 
Rose  his  great,  black  eyes,  in  which  shone  a  ray  of  joy. 

"I  am  a  soldier's  son,"  said  he,  in  a  limpid  and  sonorous 
voice. 

The  day  was  dying,  and  already  huge  shadows  floated 
over  the  country.  Suzanne  and  Claudine  retired  with  the 
two  children.  At  the  moment  when  his  wife  and  sister 


THE  RUE  DE  L'AEBKE-SEC.  365 

passed  the  door  Belle-Rose  made  an  imperceptible  sign  to 
Deroute,  who  was  going  out  also.  Deroute  remained  alone 
with  Belle -Rose.  The  sergeant  looked  at  the  colonel  with 
an  indefinable  sentiment  of  curiosity.  He  had  never  seen 
him  so  calm  and  so  terrible ;  his  features  had  the  rigidity 
of  marble. 

"Is  Grippard  here?"  asked  Belle-Rose. 

"He  is  down  below,  with  the  horses." 

"He  must  come  up." 

Grippard  was  called  and  at  once  made  his  appearance. 

"My  old  comrade  and  you,  Grippard,  are  going  to  follow 
me." 

"At  once,"  they  answered,  together, 

"You  will  do  what  I  tell  you?" 

"Without  hesitation." 

"Then  take  your  swords  and  pistols." 

"We  have  them." 

"Saddle  the  horses  and  let  us  start." 

Grippard  ran  to  the  stable,  Deroute  took  the  cloaks  and 
they  quitted  the  abbey  as  noiselessly  as  they  could.  The 
night  was  black,  sad,  and  full  of  sinister  noises  as  at  the 
hours  when  a  storm  is  brewing  on  the  horizon.  Once 
again  they  crossed  that  route  which  Belle-Rose  had 
traversed  so  often  already  and  under  circumstances  so 
diverse.  None  of  the  three  cavaliers  spoke.  Belle-Rose 
rode  in  front,  firm,  implacable,  and  rapid  as  destiny.  They 
entered  Paris ;  upon  the  colonel's  order,  Deroute  knocked 
at  the  door  of  a  haberdashery.  He  took  three  masks,  and 
each  of  them  tied  one  upon  his  face.  The  horses  were  left 
in  an  inn,  and  the  three  soldiers  plunged  into  the  city. 

"it  is  here,"  said  Belle-Rose,  when  they  had  arrived  be- 
fore Monsieur  de  Louvois  hotel. 

Leaning  against  a  somber  wall,  they  waited  a  long  time, 
immovable  as  blocks  of  stone.  Shortly  after  midnight  a 
carriage  left  the  court;  it  was  drawn  by  two  horses  and 
driven  by  a  coachman ;  there  was  a  lackey  in  front  with  a 
torch.  This  carriage  was  of  a  somber  color  and  bore  no 
escutcheon  upon  its  panels.  When  about  to  pass  the  porte 
cochere,  a  man  lowered  a  window  and  showed  his  pale  face. 

"To  Voisin's!"  said  he. 

This  man  was  Monsieur  de  Charny. 

Belle-Rose  took  up  his  position  behind  the  carriage  and 
followed  it.  Deroute  and  Grippard  were  close  upon  his 
heels.  The  state  of  the  streets  and  the  profound  obscurity 
did  not  permit  the  equipage  to  advance  very  quickly. 
Belle-Rose  and  his  two  companions,  accustomed  to  all  the 


366  THE  RUE  DE  L'ARBRE-SEC. 

exercises  of  the  body,  did  not  lose  sight  of  it.  They  arrived 
together  behind  St.  Germain  1'Auxerrois,  Rue  de  1'Arbre- 
Sec.  The  street  was  deserted  and  somber ;  Belle-Rose  find- 
ing the  place  propitious  to  his  design,  rushed  forward  and 
leaped  in  a  bound  to  the  portiere  of  the  carriage  which  he 
opened.  Deroute  had  placed  his  hand  upon  the  horses' 
bits;  Grippard  had  charged  himself  with  the  lackey. 
Everything  stopped  at  the  same  time. 

"Whip  the  horses!"  cried  Monsieur  de  Charny. 

"Whip,  and  you  are  a  dead  man,"  replied  Deroute, 
showing  a  pistol  to  the  coachman. 

The  lackey,  who  was  a  resolute  fellow,  plunged  his  spurs 
into  the  horse's  stomach,  and  struck  Grippard  on  the  head 
with  a  kind  of  hunting-knife  which  he  carried  in  his  belt. 
The  corporal's  hat  parried  the  attack,  and  he  replied  by  a 
thrust  which  entered  the  lackey's  body;  the  man  fell 
under  the  feet  of  the  horse,  which  reared  frantically. 
Grippard  let  go  the  reins,  and  the  frightened  animal  left 
at  a  gallop.  The  whip  escaped  the  hands  of  the  terrified 
coachman.  The  stopping  of  the  carriage  and  the  fall  of 
the  groom  had  occupied  fche  space  of  ten  seconds.  Monsieur 
de  Charny  looked  at  this  great  black  figure  which  had  so 
brusquely  risen  before  him ;  but  the  face  was  masked,  and 
through  the  holes  in  the  mask  he  saw  only  two  eyes  whose 
flashing  fire  made  him  start. 

"If  it  is  gold  that  you  wish,"  said  he,  affecting  to  laugh, 
"here  is  my  purse." 

Belle-Rose  took  the  purse  and  scattered  the  gold  on  the 
ground.  Monsieur  de  Charny  shivered ;  a  secret  instinct 
told  him  that  he  was  in  the  presence  of  a  terrible  danger. 

"But  what  do  you  wish,  then?"  he  exclaimed. 

"Your  life." 

Monsieur  de  Charny  collected  all  his  somber  energy  for 
braving  his  enemy  face  to  face. 

"Pardon  me,  monsieur,"  he  replied,  "I  took  you  for  a 
robber,  and  you  are  an  assassin." 

Belle-Rose  grew  pale  under  his  mask  at  this  insult. 

"Each  of  us  has  his  sword, "  he  coldly  said.  "Descend, 
monsieur." 

Monsieur  de  Charny  descended.  They  were  at  the 
corner  of  the  Rue  de  1'Arbre-Sec  and  the  Rue  des  Forses- 
St.  Germain-l'Auxerrois ;  not  a  light  shone  at  the  windows 
of  the  neighboring  houses,  not  a  voice  was  heard  in  the 
silence.  The  coachman  was  upon  his  seat,  mournful  and 
stiff  like  a  petrified  corpse ;  the  groom  was  gasping  for 
breath  upon  the  ground ;  the  scene  was  lit  up  by  a  torch 


THE  RUE  DE  L'AKBRE  SEC.  367 

which  Grippard  held  in  one  hand,  in  the  other  sparkled  a 
naked  sword.  Deroute  had  cut  the  horses'  reins  and  was 
waiting  for  an  order  to  act. 

"Monsieur,"  exclaimed  Monsieur  de  Charny,  "there 
must  be  some  mistake.  I  do  not  know  you." 

"You  will  know  me  when  one  of  us  is  stretched  out 
upon  the  ground." 

"But  it  is  a  trap." 

"It  is  a  duel." 

"And  if  I  do  not  wish  to  fight?" 

"You  are  the  master  as  to  that,  but  you  will  die  more 
surely  and  more  quickly." 

Belle- Rose  called  Deroute  with  a  sign  of  his  head,  and 
drawing  forth  his  watch,  he  looked  at  it  in  the  red  light  of 
the  torch. 

"You  have  three  minutes  in  which  to  decide, "  said  he ; 
"at  the  third,  if  you  are  not  ready,  this  man  will  blow  out 
your  brains  with  a  pistol  as  he  would  kill  a  venomous 
beast." 

Deroute  took  a  pistol  from  his  belt  and  loaded  it.  Mon- 
sieur de  Charny  felt  chilled  to  the  marrow  of  his  bones. 
He  waited  two  minutes ;  the  silence  was  so  profound  that 
one  could  hear  the  creaking  of  the  weather-cocks  upon  the 
roofs.  The  coachman  held  to  his  seat  with  both  hands  to 
keep  from  falling.  At  the  third  minute,  Monsieur  de 
Charny  drew  his  sword. 

"I  am  ready,  monsieur,"  said  he. 

Through  his  fright,  a  sudden  idea  had  come  to  reanimate 
his  failing  courage.  Now  he  no  longer  feared  to  die ;  he 
believed  that  he  would  conquer.  Belle-Rose  put  himself 
on  guard,  Grippard  approached,  raising  the  torch.  Deroute 
shoved  his  pistol  back  in  his  belt,  and  the  two  blades  were 
crossed.  Monsieur  de  Charny  displayed,  from  the  very 
first,  all  the  finesse  of  his  sword-play;  confidence  had 
nerved  his  hand  and  augmented  his  resources ;  but  of  his 
sword  Belle-Rose  made  a  cuirass ;  everywhere  steel  en- 
countered steel.  It  was  plain  that  each  of  the  duelists 
wished  to  kill  his  adversary.  Their  feet  seemed  glued  to 
the  soil,  and  their  swords,  rapid  and  flexible,  were  inter- 
laced like  luminous  serpents.  Monsieur  de  Charny's  left 
hand  rested  upon  his  hip,  but  it  glided  by  an  imperceptible 
movement  toward  his  trousers  pocket.  All  at  once,  and 
after  a  thrust  and  parry  by  Belle-Rose,  which  stained  with 
some  drops  of  blood  the  gentleman's  sleeve  just  above  the 
elbow,  this  hand  reappeared  armed  with  a  pistol.  The 
weapon  was  raised  and  the  shot  fired ;  but  Belle-Rose, 


368  THE  EUE  DE  L'ABBKE-SEC. 

more  prompt  than  lightning,  threw  himself  to  one  side, 
and  the  ball,  grazing  his  breast,  traversed  the  soldier's 
left  arm. 

"Traitor!"  he  exclaimed,  and,  rapid  as  a  thunderbolt,  he 
pounced  upon  Monsieur  de  Charny. 

Nothing  could  stop  the  impetuosity  of  his  onslaught; 
this  time  the  hand  was  of  iron  as  well  as  the  sword ;  the 
first  thrust  was  like  a  ball  and  traversed  the  gentleman's 
breast  near  the  heart;  the  second  pierced  his  throat 
through  and  through.  Monsieur  de  Charny  opened  his 
arms  and  fell.  Belle-Kose  leaned  over,  and  snatching  off 
his  mask,  showed  his  naked  face. 

"You  have  poisoned  Genevieve  de  Chateauf ort, "  he  said 
to  him;  "die,  then,  and  be  cursed." 

An  expression  of  profound  horror  and  mad  rage  con- 
tracted Monsieur  de  Charny's  face ;  a  last  blasphemy  ex- 
pired upon  his  bloody  lips,  a  shiver  seized  him,  and  he 
died. 

"She  is  avenged."  said  Belle-Kose,  "let  us  leave." 

They  remounted  their  horses  at  the  inn  where  they 
had  left  them,  and  regained  St.  Claire  d'Ennery.  The  day 
was  beginning  to  dawn  when  they  reached  the  abbey,  and 
the  country  awoke  all  shining  with  that  enchanting 
decoration  which  the  summer  lavishes  on  everything;  the 
dew  trembled  on  the  branches  of  the  hedges,  and  the  birds 
sang  in  the  foliage.  Suzanne  was  waiting  in  a  mortal  in- 
quietude ;  she  had  been  told  of  Belle-Eose's  absence,  and 
was  ignorant  of  the  cause  of  it.  When  she  perceived  him, 
she  ran  to  him  with  a  pale  face,  but  with  her  eyes  already 
smiling. 

"What!  blood!"  she  exclaimed,  when  Belle-Rose  had 
opened  his  cloak. 

"It  is  nothing, "  replied  the  soldier,  in  a  deep  voice;  "I 
have  just  killed  a  serpent." 

(THE  END.) 


A    000126445     6 


